


Kindred: A Moment In Time, 2002

by torturingtaylor (itzaimster)



Series: Kindred Series [14]
Category: Hanson
Genre: Brothers, Clones, Conspiracy, Genetics, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2018-12-30 16:33:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12112752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itzaimster/pseuds/torturingtaylor
Summary: As the clones enter adulthood, their lives are getting more complicated. Accidents change lives forever, and new paths are forged leading to the clones we know today.





	1. Chapter 1

Carey’s leg bounced as the call rang through. It was answered faster than expected and he had to quickly clear his throat.  
“Hello?”  
“Hi,” he purposely smiled, knowing it would come through in his voice, “is there a Mr Jesse Musgrove there?”  
“Who’s calling?”  
“Uh… my name is Carey Miller. I just need to talk to him.”  
“Why’s that?”  
Carey paused, chewing on his lip.  
“It’s kinda personal,” he tried to work around, “I don’t know if he’d really…”  
He heard the door opening behind him but tried to stay focused.  
“I don’t know if he’d really want me to share it.”  
“Where are you from, Carey Miller?”  
He could hear a scornful tone in her voice now and closed his eyes.  
“LA, east side,” he relented.  
“Really.”  
“Yes,” he frowned as he felt a hand on his head, “can I talk to him please?”  
“He’s not here right now.”  
“Can I ask when he’ll be back?” he looked up at Emma as she stood over him.  
She looked worried.  
“No,” the call ended suddenly.  
Carey sighed and pulled the phone from his ear.  
“That didn’t sound good,” Emma was sympathetic.  
“It wasn’t, and that was my last few dollars,” Carey admitted, rubbing his face, “I need to put more money on this thing.”  
He set the Nokia aside and put his head in his hands.  
“Maybe you should put the stalking on hold for a while,” Emma suggested, “you’re stressed enough with your studies. Just take a break for a while so you can focus on one thing.”  
“This is all I can focus on,” Carey shook his head, “ever since I saw that wedding article… this is all I can think of. I need to talk to him. I need to see him.”  
“I get it. You need to know that he’s real.”  
“Yeah.”  
Emma took a seat opposite him and he had trouble looking her in the eye.  
“Of course there’s something else you need to focus on,” she clasped her hands.  
He looked up, and the look on her face told him he was in trouble.  
“What happened at the aquatic center yesterday?”  
Carey grit his teeth.  
“If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine,” Emma shrugged, “but you know it’s going to drive me crazy not knowing and I’m going to start asking around for another job for you starting tomorrow so knowing what happened might help that…”  
“I had a misunderstanding with the boss,” he avoided eye contact again.  
“A misunderstanding?”  
“Something about shift times and not falling asleep on the job,” Carey’s voice was quiet.  
Emma paused, thinking that over.  
“You’re stretching yourself too thin,” she shook her head, “I knew we couldn’t afford this place.”  
“We can afford this place!” Carey insisted.  
“Care you don’t have a job!” she scorned, “how are we supposed to afford rent next week on my casual salary alone?”  
Carey hesitated, unsure if he should bring it up or not. In the end he knew he couldn’t hide it from her.  
“I already asked Mark for money,” he admitted.  
“Are you kidding me?!”  
“It was a backup plan, I wasn’t going to let us starve,” Carey defended.  
“Do you even care where that money is coming from?”  
“Of course I care,” he scorned, “but I can’t control Mark!”  
“You’re enabling him.”  
“What else was I supposed to do? Let them put us on the street?”  
Emma scoffed and stood from the chair. She went over to the kitchenette and began to fill a saucepan with water from the sink. He looked over at his college textbooks and knew he needed to get some study done before he slept.  
Emma set the noodles on the stove before turning back.  
“It’s not that I don’t appreciate him trying to help,” she corrected, making him look up, “but how long before Mike breaks down that door and calls you an accomplice?”  
Carey didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing.  
“I can’t do this on my own,” she shrugged, “and I never want to make you choose between me and Mark, but… what he’s doing is dangerous, and I hate it when you get involved.”  
“I’m not getting involved,” he assured, “Mark’s problems are Mark’s problems.”  
“Taking his dirty money is getting involved,” Emma pointed out.  
“It might not even be dirty money,” Carey quickly said, “we haven’t exactly kept up with his business ventures lately.”  
“Is he even alive?” Emma felt she should ask.  
“I spoke to him today,” Carey confirmed, “so… yeah.”  
Emma bit her lip while they stared at each other. He was already worried about what she’d say next.  
“You do know it’s a problem that I have to ask that, right?” she checked.  
“I’ve tried,” Carey insisted, “he’s not going to rehab, and he doesn’t see the point in working at McDonald’s while he’s bringing in so much cash doing what he’s doing. How else can I talk sense into him?”  
“There has to be a way,” she shook her head.  
She moved away from the stove as the water began to boil and Carey started to move his paperwork from the table so they had some room.  
They didn’t say another word to each other as they ate. It wasn’t enough to fill their stomachs, but it was all they could afford. After they ate Emma shifted to the mattress on the floor nearby to read while Carey continued his studies at the table. Emma fell asleep long before he did, and he made sure his alarm was set for school in the morning before sneaking under the covers beside her.

In the morning Carey tried not to wake her as he got ready and headed out soon after the sun rose. His college campus was only a short walk away, but he had to walk through a rough neighborhood to get there. Apart from his backpack he was usually able to somewhat blend in by keeping his hair tucked under a black beanie and wearing fingerless gloves with a long-sleeved hoodie. Now that the weather was getting cooler it was even easier to concentrate on keeping his head down. He’d still find trouble on occasion, and when someone suddenly grabbed him by the arm his left hand reactively formed a fist.  
“Hey.”  
He stopped himself the moment he realized it was his brother who’d tried to pull him into the alley. With a quick look around to make sure no one was watching, he followed him.  
“Hey,” he returned once out of sight, “sorry about this. The guy was a fucking jerk.”  
“Aren’t they all?” Mark was rubbing his nose as he fumbled inside his jacket.  
Carey waited anxiously for Mark to find what he was looking for, before quickly taking the envelope and hiding it inside his hoodie.  
“Do you need more?” Mark sniffed, his eyes droopy.  
“This should do for now,” Carey assured, “thanks.”  
Mark nodded, expecting him to just walk away.  
“Are you high?” Carey frowned, looking him over.  
“Does it matter?” Mark avoided eye contact, knowing his eyes were bloodshot.  
“Mark it’s seven o’clock in the morning.”  
“Well it’s 7pm somewhere.”  
Carey rolled his eyes and looked back down the alley.  
“You haven’t called.”  
“I ran out of money on my prepaid,” Carey admitted right away, “but thanks to you I can put more cash on it now.”  
“Don’t mention it.”  
Carey hesitated, not really wanting to leave him yet. He hadn’t seen him in a few days and he wasn’t looking any better than the last time.  
“How’s Dad?” he asked.  
Mark rubbed his nose again before lifting the front of his shirt a little. Carey winced when he saw the bruise running down his brother’s side.  
“Still pretty strong,” Mark smirked when he saw the reaction.  
“You can afford to leave, why don’t you?” Carey didn’t lose the look.  
Mark broke into a laugh.  
“What’s so funny?” Carey tried to catch his eye.  
“You are. Pretending it’s that easy.”  
“It really is!” Carey insisted, “can’t one of your friends set you up with a place until you find one of your own?”  
“Dude I’m nineteen years old.”  
Carey rolled his eyes.  
“At least you had someone to leave with. Though I’m surprised Mike and his cronies haven’t found you yet,” Mark thought out loud.  
“I’m sure they aren’t far away,” Carey looked back over his shoulder again.  
“When’s the last time you slept more than five hours?”  
“Why?” Carey gave him the suspicious side eye.  
Mark smirked knowing he wasn’t going to answer truthfully regardless. He again fumbled in his jacket and pulled out a small bottle with no label.  
“Mark…”  
“It’s just caffeine,” Mark assured, finally looking his brother in the eye, “you’re not gonna OD on it. Here.”  
He handed him the bottle and Carey reluctantly took it.  
“Only take one or two every six hours,” Mark insisted before turning to walk away.  
Carey quickly hid it inside his jacket with the envelope of money.  
“Thanks!” he called after him, but Mark didn’t look back.  
Again checking to make sure no one had been watching, Carey continued on his way to school.

On the way home Carey detoured to see the owner of the apartment, using Mark’s money to pay a month advance in rent. With still some time before the stores closed he quickly bought some credit for his cell phone and some food. He paused for a long time in the candy aisle but finally decided against it. He wasn’t sure how long this money would last them, or how long it would take to find another job. He did grab a newspaper so he could start the search for one at least.  
By the time Emma got home from her afterschool job it was well and truly after dark. Carey had taken a break from studying to keep circling jobs in the paper and to look through his filing for his résumé.  
“Hey,” he greeted as she came through the door.  
“Hey,” she returned, sounding tired.  
Carey momentarily felt a familiar pang of regret hit him in the chest. She was only sixteen, and she was already living as though she were middle-aged and in poverty.  
Before he could shake the feeling off she set a flyer on the table beside him.  
“What’s this?” he asked.  
“The coffee shop across from school is hiring,” she held back a yawn as she walked over to the closet to change, “hours negotiable. Might be worth looking into.”  
“That sounds good,” he looked between the flyer and the other jobs he’d already circled.  
He figured he should probably apply for multiple right away. He’d gotten his last job through the college and hadn’t really had to outright apply for something before. He wasn’t sure what his chances would be.  
“Do you have time to go down there tomorrow?” Emma asked, pulling her pyjamas on.  
“I can make time,” Carey was half telling himself, “I can catch the bus on my lunch break or something.”  
“Good.”  
He ran his fingers through his hair as he debated what to tell her about Mark. She came over to set the noodles cooking on the stove and he managed to avoid eye contact before pulling himself together.  
“So the rent’s paid up for a month, plus the week we’d already paid,” he informed her, “and we have enough food for maybe two weeks. If I can get a job in the next few days we’ll be fine.”  
“Good,” was her short response as she went back to cooking.  
He bit his lip, knowing that she was just tired. He quickly began to pack up his work while making sure not to lose the flyer. He’d aim for the coffee shop the next day and apply for the other jobs after his day at college.  
After dinner they separated across the room as usual to focus on their studies, but Carey could only keep looking at his cell phone. He’d put the extra credit onto it when he’d gotten home but he wasn’t sure how much more he could annoy Chelsea Musgrove before she called the police. Three times now she’d found a reason to hang up on him and he wasn’t sure what else he could do to get through to Jesse.  
But he had to keep trying. Even just for the chance to hear his voice.


	2. Chapter 2

Keandre was careful to keep the blade horizontal to his thumb as he shaved small pieces of the wood away. He sat under the shade of a black pine where he’d dug up part of a root and started to carve it into shape.  
His eyes were on a skate park across the street. Two groups of youths were congregating at either end, and despite knowing what was about to happen he couldn’t help but hope it might blow over before it started.  
No such luck. It didn’t take long for the ‘alpha males’ to charge. Once one of the groups approached the other the fight was on. It took everything Keandre had in him to not intervene, remembering all too well what it had been like to face the brunt of these kind of kids.  
But no, he’d have to bide his time. He had to learn to hold himself back as hard as it was for him.  
The fight took what seemed like forever before the injured were pulled away and the victors joyously left the scene. After a quick pep talk from their friends, the losers began to leave the park themselves.  
Keandre got to his feet and subtly began to follow. The small group of five began to part ways as they made it closer to their homes, and soon they were down to two. Keandre watched from the shadows as the two stopped to talk the day over, ignoring that the sun was nearly down despite their curfews. One of them planned to skip school the next day and tried to convince his friend to do the same. The response was dismissive, and it made Keandre purse his lips.  
When they finally separated, Keandre stayed on the one unsure about school. He waited until his friend was safely inside before starting to openly follow him down the pavement. He knew his boots would make a noise similar to heels and that it wouldn’t take long to be noticed.  
The kid, an early teenager, turned to look over his shoulder. When he saw Keandre’s determined gate he stopped walking, as opposed to running as Keandre knew he would have done himself.  
“Salut,” Keandre gave him a nod as he approached, “Louis.”  
“Comment connais tu mon nom?/How do you know my name?” his worry showed as Keandre caught up to him.  
“Je sais plus que ça/I know more than that,” he looked the kid over.  
“Pourquoi?/Why?”  
Keandre looked over his shoulder to check that no one was around. The streets were eerily deserted. He found the scene somewhat perfect.  
“Je veux vous aider/I want to help you,” he said when he looked back, “vous n'avez pas dit à vos amis que vous n'avez pas de maison/you haven’t told your friends that you don’t have a home.”  
“Ce n'est pas l'affaire de personne/It’s nobody’s business,” Louis frowned defensively.  
“C'est à moi/It’s mine,” Keandre assured, “j'ai quelque chose à te montrer/I have something to show you.”

It was well after dark by the time they made it to the clearing. Most everyone was inside already, either preparing or actually having their evening meal. Keandre beckoned for Louis to follow him up the front steps, and cautiously the youngster obliged.  
“Avez-vous faim?/Are you hungry?” Keandre asked him, hearing the bustling kitchen already.  
Louis nodded, looking around in awe. He’d never seen anything like this house.  
“Allons,” Keandre waved him on.  
He led him through to the kitchen where the buffet was in full swing. Teens and young adults alike were swarming to fill their plates. Keandre showed Louis where to fetch one from and helped him to decide what he wanted to put on it. Louis had certain allergies that were easily circumvented.  
“Keandre?” he turned to a familiar voice behind him, “qui est-ce?/who is this?”  
Rhianna was indicating Louis.  
“C'est Louis/This is Louis,” Keandre quickly introduced, “sois gentil/be gentle.”  
She playfully slapped him on the shoulder, making him grin.  
“Bienvenue!/Welcome!” she focused on Louis instead, putting an arm around his shoulders and leading him to the dining hall, “je m'appelle Rhianna/my name is Rhianna.”  
Keandre smirked as she disappeared and began to focus on his own plate. He’d barely finished filling it before he felt a hand in the small of his back.  
“Où étiez-vous?/Where have you been?” a voice cooed in his ear as the hand ventured around to his hip.  
“Sur projet/On business,” Keandre replied, wondering if he should put the plate down.  
“Dépêchez-vous et mangez/Hurry up and eat,” the hand gave him a pat before pulling away, “Il faut faire le temps/we have to make up for time.”  
He heard the footsteps walking away and groaned appreciatively to himself. With a roll of his eyes he set the plate aside and followed.  
He made his way to the bedroom he shared with four other men and women around his age. Most bunk rooms were segregated by age, though the night working adults often shared with the younger kids. The door was only slightly ajar when he got there, and he pushed it open precariously.  
“Sylvain?” he called out, now unsure if he’d even come this way.  
He felt rough hands suddenly grab him and pull him inside, pushing him flat against the nearby wall. The door closed and they were left in the dark.  
“Je t'ai manqué?/You missed me?” Keandre smirked again, only able to focus on Sylvain's toothy grin, “je n'étais parti que pour un jour/I was only gone for a day.”  
“Soyez silencieux/Be quiet,” Sylvain ordered, before pressing his dark lips against Keandre’s.  
Keandre grinned into it, his arms still being held down. He was taller than Sylvain but hardly as strong. Once Sylvain let up Keandre grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him back toward the largest bed.  
“Prouve que tu m'as manqué/Prove that you missed me,” he taunted, quickly removing his shirt, “ou je pourrais trouver quelque chose de mieux à faire/or I might find something better to do.”

“I feel desperate,” Chelsea admitted as she fixed a hoop earring, “I don’t want to come off as desperate. What if he gets worried and wants to come home early?”  
“Like he doesn’t want to come home early anyway,” her friend scoffed down the phone, “I’m sure you look fine.”  
Chelsea pulled a face as she swapped ears, fixing the other earring while watching carefully in the bathroom mirror.  
“You won’t believe what the jerk’s been doing,” she went on, finally satisfied and reaching for her foundation set.  
“Who, Jesse?”  
“Yeah,” she opened the case and readied the brush, “he’s being really weird about it. He keeps calling pretending to be someone named Carey.”  
“What?”  
“I know, right?! He puts on an accent and everything. It’s so weird.”  
“Why would he do that?”  
“I have no idea,” she sighed, powdering her face, “I mean I get if he wants to talk just so we can hear each other or whatever, but why pretend to be someone else? Why all the weird questions about himself?”  
“He’s not checking if you’re cheating or anything?”  
“He wouldn’t,” Chelsea stopped to frown, “he knows I wouldn’t.”  
“I don’t know, I’m trying to think of options. What kind of questions does he ask?”  
“Random things like what he does for a living, how long he’s lived in Shreveport, like… lifestyle stuff. If it were anyone else it would be kinda creepy.”  
“It sounds creepy anyway.”  
“I think he’s just messing with me. I’ll talk to him tonight about it. It makes me glad tonight’s happening.”  
“How long do you have?”  
Chelsea turned to look at the clock in the hallway.  
“Only a few minutes, so I’d better go.”  
“Good luck! Say hi from me!”  
“I will. Goodnight!”  
“Goodnight Chel!”  
She hung up and set the cordless on the basin before quickly finishing up. She applied some eyeshadow and some lipstick before double checking that everything was perfect. Once she was satisfied she went back to the bedroom to try and finally decide between the two outfits she’d earlier chosen.  
It was still hard, but she eventually chose the floral dress. The other one was a little too formal. She didn’t want it to seem like a business meeting, she wanted to cheer him up.

She soon found herself sitting in front of the computer, adjusting the web cam and nervously waiting for the call. It had been a week since she’d seen her husband’s face and she hoped that tonight he’d bring news of his return home. He’d already been gone longer than the army had expected.  
Finally, the call came. She quickly cleared her throat and smiled before accepting. An image of static came across the screen and she made it bigger so that she could see his face. It was all she could do to stop herself from crying then and there.  
“Hey you,” his grin immediately calmed her.  
“Hey,” her voice wavered, “are you okay?!”  
“I’m fine, we’re all fine!” he insisted, yelling slightly so that she could hear him, “but I can’t wait to come home!”  
“I can’t wait for you to come home either!” she assured, “do you know when yet?”  
“Hopefully next week! We’ve got five days left in this camp and then we’re going to head on out and aim for the air center.”  
Chelsea breathed a sigh of relief at that.  
“How’s everything in Louisiana?”  
“Fine, the dogs are fine,” she cleared her throat again, wishing with everything that she could just hug him already, “your Ma says hi, and Gracie says hi too.”  
“Say hi back! I miss them too!”  
“How’s Blake?” Chelsea was always afraid to ask.  
“I’m fine too!” came a shout off screen that made Jesse grin again.  
A hand waved in front of the camera and Chelsea couldn’t help but chuckle.  
“He’s my cameraman,” Jesse gave her a thumbs up, “we’ve tried to send him out into the fire zone as bait but he keeps refusing to go.”  
“Don’t listen to him Chel they all love me here.”  
“We can’t let him think otherwise,” Jesse shrugged, “but we all know it’s a lie.”  
“You two behave yourselves over there, we want you home in one piece okay?!” Chelsea insisted.  
“Behaving ain’t no fun,” Blake’s voice moaned.  
“Do you mind? This is my call!” Jesse scolded him, “if you want to talk to her so bad you make your own!”  
“How long do you have?” Chelsea tried to pull his attention back.  
“About uh… three minutes left I think,” Jesse checked a large black watch that mismatched the camouflage he wore, “then we’ll go eat some crappy food and head out on a survey.”  
“Be careful,” she insisted, “that’s where the danger is, isn’t it?”  
“It’s all kinda dangerous but it’s nothing we can’t handle,” Jesse insisted.  
Chelsea jumped as her phone rang. She immediately cursed the inappropriate timing.  
“Who’s that?” Jesse could hear it through the video call.  
Chelsea had looked across at the screen that showed caller ID. The number that came up was all too familiar, and she looked back at the screen to check that Jesse’s hands were in view.  
“What is it?” Jesse was getting worried at her lack of response.  
This was it. She was going to catch him this time.  
She reached over for the phone and quickly answered the call before it could cut out.  
“Hello?” she answered sweetly.  
“Are you kidding me?” Jesse looked incredulous before focusing on Blake, “my wife just ditched me.”  
“Maybe she already moved on. Figured out what she was missing.”  
“Ah… hi. Chelsea?” the familiar voice came through, “I’m so, _so_ sorry to bother you, but I really need to talk to you. Please don’t hang up on me!”  
Chelsea’s eyes narrowed at the screen while Jesse was still bitching to Blake.  
“Jess?” she got his attention back.  
“Oh you’re talking to me now?”  
“Hold up three fingers,” she demanded.  
“Why?”  
“Just do it!”  
He paused, confused, but did as she asked.  
“What’s going on?” the voice came down the phone, sounding more worried than before.  
“Um,” she wasn’t sure what to do, “I’ll call you back.”  
She quickly hung up before straightening her hair again.  
“Who was that?” Jesse frowned, giving her his full attention now.  
“Nobody,” she insisted, “how much longer do we have? Did you get my care package this week?”


	3. Chapter 3

“What’s wrong?” Emma frowned from the mattress on the floor.  
“She hung up on me,” Carey was staring at his cell phone in confusion.  
“She always hangs up on you,” Emma was more confused than he was.  
“Yeah,” he shot her glance, “but this time she said she’d call me back.”  
“Well… that’s progress, right?”  
“I hope so,” he scratched his head, setting the phone down beside him.  
He stared at it for the next few minutes before it rang again. He knew the number off by heart already.  
“Hey… Chelsea?” he checked.  
“Who is this?” she demanded.  
“It’s Carey. Carey Miller,” he frowned, “you know who it is.”  
“No, I don’t,” she corrected, “I thought you were my husband prank calling me.”  
Carey paused, taken aback. Now some of the weird things she’d said to him began to make sense.  
“Okay, uh…” he had to stop to get his bearings, “well I guess we should start again.”  
“We should.”  
“My name is Carey Miller, I’m from eastern Los Angeles,” he began carefully, “I grew up with an identical twin brother but I now live in a one-room apartment with my girlfriend. A few years back a band called Hanson kinda took over the airwaves…”  
“I’m aware.”  
“…And well, I noticed that one of the guys in the group looked a lot like us so I did a little research. I soon worked out that he couldn’t be related to us because he was already from a big family, so I changed the way I was researching and I came across Jesse’s yearbook photo.”  
“How?” Chelsea demanded.  
“It was in a national database. Along with yours,” Carey admitted openly, “I’ve only gone through the southern states so far. Taylor Hanson wasn’t even in there.”  
“He wouldn’t be. He was home schooled.”  
“Right,” Carey bit his lip, unsure of her tone.  
“So what do you want with Jesse?” she asked straight out.  
“I just want to talk to him,” Carey assured, “maybe, hopefully meet him. It threw us for six when we started seeing Taylor’s face everywhere I can only imagine it did him too.”  
“Yeah, it did,” Chelsea confirmed.  
She paused before sighing.  
“He’s away right now, for work.”  
“He’s away on business?” Carey’s brow rose and he looked across to Emma, “he travels for work?”  
She was watching patiently.  
“Yes, has been since he was sixteen. He hasn’t been away too much yet, but he’s going to start going more. He’s due home hopefully next week.”  
“Will he have any time to maybe give me a call or…?”  
“Can you come out to Shreveport?”  
Carey bit his lip again, not daring to get too hopeful just yet.  
“I’m sure I could find a way, I’m between jobs right now.”  
Emma scowled at that but he’d already avoided eye contact.  
“Okay well. I’ll give you a call when I know for sure he’s coming home.”  
“Thanks. Thank you!”  
“One more thing.”  
“Okay?” he was a little worried.  
“Can you send me a picture? I’ve only heard your voice and sure y’all sound alike but…”  
“I’m not sure how,” Carey admitted, “I could use the computers at my college if you have an email address?”  
“Sure.”  
He quickly found something to write down her email with, already wondering how he was going to do this without it being weird. Hopefully it sent to the right person.  
“Thank you Chelsea. I’ll try in the next few days.”  
“I hope I see you soon.”  
Carey smirked at that.  
“I hope to talk to you soon,” he amended, “goodnight.”  
“Goodnight Carey Miller.”

The sound of someone climbing the ladder of the bunk bed woke Keandre sometime earlier the next morning. He’d only meant to doze, but the length of his day before had inadvertently gotten to him.  
He reached over to check the small alarm clock they kept on the floor, feeling Sylvain moving beside him when he did.  
“Merde!” he cursed, throwing the covers aside and jumping up.  
“Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas?/What’s wrong?” Sylvain could barely open his eyes.  
“Louis doit aller à l'école/Louis needs to get to school,” Keandre quickly looked for his clothes.  
He found a pair of jeans and quickly smelled them before pulling them on.  
“Laissez Rihanna le faire/Just let Rhianna do it,” Sylvain moaned, pulling the sheets over him again.  
“Il est ma responsabilité/He is my responsibility,” Keandre insisted.  
He sighed, knowing they were already keeping their roommate awake.  
“Vous pourriez venir avec moi/You could come with me,” Keandre pointed out before he also found a shirt.  
A non-committal groan came from beneath the sheets, making Keandre roll his eyes and head out toward the kitchen. He hadn’t eaten anything the night before so he was now starving. With no one in sight but voices in the distance, he quickly grabbed a small bread roll and went to the fridge to find some juice. By the time he closed the door his other roommate had entered, yawning and heading for the pantry.  
“Où as-tu dormi la nuit dernière?/Where did you sleep?” he asked her.  
“Sur le porche/On the porch,” she replied, “ne voulait pas interrompre/didn’t want to interrupt.”  
That made Keandre smirk as he grabbed a bright plastic cup from beneath the bench.  
“Pardon,” he mused.  
“Peut-être que vous devriez avoir votre propre chambre/Maybe you should get your own room,” she eyed him, moving to put some bread in the toaster.  
He just rolled his eyes as he poured his juice, quickly returning it to the fridge before grabbing a couple of apples from a bowl on the counter and heading for the living area.

By the time he found Louis Rhianna already had him under her wing. She’d already made the youngster breakfast and had given him a stern talking-to about the prospect of missing school. He was glad to see Keandre’s face, and Keandre took advantage of the reaction to insist that he should be the one to take Louis back to school. After making sure Louis had everything he’d brought with him Keandre bid Rhianna farewell with a kiss on the cheek.  
The walk back was faster, and Louis seemed reluctant to leave.  
“Vous êtes les bienvenus en tout temps/You’re welcome anytime,” Keandre insisted, “vous rappelez-vous le chemin de la maison?/do you remember the way back?”  
Louis nodded.  
“Génial/Great,” Keandre gave him a warm smile and a pat on the back, “pensez-y aujourd'hui. Si vous êtes heureux, revenez. Je te verrai ce soir./think about it today. If you are happy, come back. I’ll see you tonight.”  
Louis smiled at that before biting his lip and heading into the school. Keandre watched to make sure he made it inside the building without any of the bullies spotting him before continuing on his way.

Mark wiped his face to make sure it was clear of dust before opening the front door. He flinched at the early daylight before closing it behind him and stepping down to the uneven pavement. Keeping his head down and trying to be quiet as usual meant that he nearly jumped out of his skin when she put a hand on his shoulder.  
“Emma?” he frowned when he saw her face and instantly turned away again, “what are you doing here?”  
“Checking on you,” she did look worried as she looked him over.  
“Sure,” he smirked, still avoiding eye contact, “well I got business so…”  
“I didn’t want Care to take the money,” she frowned, “because I thought it might be dirty.”  
“What money?” Mark sniffed.  
“Don’t start that,” she had a warning tone to her voice that immediately sobered him.  
He took a moment to collect his thoughts before shaking his head.  
“It wasn’t dirty,” he was looking back down the street.  
“Then what was it?”  
“I sold some stuff,” he rubbed his nose again, “made a healthy profit.”  
“Drugs?” she demanded.  
“I’m not dealing.”  
She grabbed him by the arm, making him jump again. She held his arm under his eyes so that he could see the white streaks across his black hoodie.  
“You’re a terrible liar. Just like your brother,” she insisted, letting him go again.  
“So what?” his eyes rolled, “what does it matter where it came from? You got a roof over your head, don’t you?”  
“For now. But how long until that roof is a jail cell?”  
Mark scoffed at that.  
“Don’t tell me Mike’s not hanging around waiting for you to screw up again,” Emma scorned right back, “and hell hath no fury if you dare take Carey down with you.”  
“I won’t,” he said under his breath.  
“What was that?” she demanded, not in the mood for muttering.  
“I said I won’t,” he finally looked her in the eye, “Care has nothing to do with this. He’s made that very clear from day one.”  
“It doesn’t _matter_ ,” she insisted, “he has your damn face! He has something to do with it whether either of you think he does or not!”  
“Look, I haven’t heard of anyone approaching him. I’d assume he’d tell you if he had been,” Mark defended, “how is this a problem for you at all? You live halfway across town for God’s sakes it’s not like I’m hiding behind your dumpster offering weed to schoolkids.”  
“It’s my problem because Carey’s problems are my problems,” she was seething now, “and your problems are still his problems. How hard is that for you to understand?! You need to sort your shit out!”  
“Or what?” he suddenly stood up straight and looked down on her, “what are you going to do?”  
Emma grit her teeth, knowing he was getting angry now. While she was sure he’d never lay a hand on her, he was a lot taller than her now and he was quite obviously buzzed on something.  
“I got a right to live my life the way I want to. Not just to appease him, not to appease Dad, and certainly not to keep this stupid Hanson image clean either. I shouldn’t have to care, and I don’t expect you to either. If I never saw you again after today I wouldn’t be all that surprised.”  
Emma couldn’t help but roll her eyes.  
“But Care asked for my help, and I’m not going to tell him to fuck off if I can help,” Mark insisted, “I’m not expecting anything in return. It’s not a loan. As far as I’m concerned that money doesn’t exist anymore.”  
“And no one’s coming looking for it?” Emma folded her arms.  
“No,” Mark scorned, “why would they? I told you I sold some stuff. It was a fair deal for some furniture.”  
“Furniture?” her brow rose, “since when?”  
“Since Caleb’s Uncle had a warehouse he needed emptying and told us he wanted it gone in three days, what do you care?” he was confused.  
Emma hesitated, but nodded.  
“I just wanted to know the money was clean,” she insisted, “if you’d started with that story maybe this conversation would have gone different.”  
She held back a melancholy sigh and turned to walk away. Mark watched her leave, debating going after her. But when he looked back at the house and saw the curtain moving aside he knew he had to get out of there. So he took off in the opposite direction, pulling his hood over his head and keeping it down again as he walked.  
He’d try and remember to call Carey later.


	4. Chapter 4

Carey was nervous the entire drive to Shreveport. It was a very, very long drive.  
Mark had loaned him the car, and Carey made sure to check that it was legally registered and roadworthy. He’d checked the address a hundred times and promised Emma he’d pull over for coffee every other hour. He wasn’t entirely sure he’d keep the promise to begin with so when he found he was making more bathroom stops than food stops he started to cut down.  
On the second day he arrived mid-afternoon. After making sure he’d eaten lunch he made his way to the Musgroves’ house. It was a small ranch-style house complete with an almost-white picket fence that was weathered in a few places.  
He’d barely pulled up on the verge before a slight blond emerged onto the porch in a pale pink dress. She indicated for him to pull into the driveway, so he started the car again and pulled in. By the time he got out she was at the side of the car with her arms folded.  
“Carey Miller?” she presumed, looking very wary.  
“Yeah,” he offered an awkward smile, “sorry I’m a little bit later than I thought I’d be. I overslept.”  
“It’s okay,” she shrugged, “Jess won’t be home until the morning.”  
She couldn’t help but look him over. He knew it had to be weird for her, so as awkward as he felt he waited until she was ready.  
“Come on inside,” she offered, “did you bring a bag?”  
“Yes,” he turned to collect it from the back seat, glad to break eye contact for the moment.  
She bit her lip as she watched him, before leading the way inside. She quickly showed him to the second bedroom where he was able to leave his bag before following her into the kitchen where she started to make them some coffee.  
The first thing Carey spotted was a wedding photo on the wall and he immediately went to it. It was the same photo used in an article he’d seen only bigger and obviously clearer.  
Now that she’d actually seen him it was obvious to Chelsea that Carey wasn’t her husband, but with such a similar physique it was still disconcerting to see him in the corner of her eye. She tried to get the coffees made quickly so she could keep him in her sights better.  
“I hope I'm not overstepping, but you look beautiful here,” he threw her a smile over his shoulder before getting back to staring at the photo, “that dress is amazing.”  
“You said you live with your girlfriend?” Chelsea checked.  
“Yeah,” he confirmed.  
“Do you think you’ll marry her?”  
“I hope so,” he was focused on Jesse now, “we can’t really afford it right now.”  
“Did you go to school together?”  
“Something like that,” Carey sighed to himself.  
It was hard not to think that it was Mark in the photo, despite the scar on Mark’s face. But his brain knew that it wasn’t _him_ , so logically it had to be his brother…  
He jumped when Chelsea appeared with the mugs and gratefully took his.  
“Thanks,” he went back to staring at the photo.  
“This must be just as weird for you,” her eyes were still wandering his frame.  
“It’s pretty weird,” he agreed.  
“Jesse and I met in elementary school,” she looked up at the photo as well, “I have photos of him as a kid if you’d like to see them.”  
“Definitely,” Carey’s eyes lit up, “if you don’t mind.”  
“Wouldn’t have offered if I did,” she mused, walking past him and heading for the living area.  
He followed, finding her looking through an old cupboard.  
“Take a seat,” she offered the couch for him to wait on.  
He set his coffee on the table in front of it before practically falling into it. His legs were definitely sore from the drive and he was glad to be off them. Chelsea soon brought him an album that was already barely staying together and opened it to a page about halfway through.  
“This is Jesse?” Carey spotted him immediately.  
He had to be about ten years old in this school portrait. Unlike his or Mark’s, Jesse’s held an almost goofy grin. He was missing a couple of teeth.  
“Yes,” Chelsea sat beside him.  
“Does Jesse know his birth mother?” Carey figured she of all people would know.  
“I don’t think he ever met her,” she shook her head, “I’m not sure he ever tried. He was adopted as a baby.”  
“So were we,” Carey nodded to himself, turning the page to find another similar school photo with some teeth replaced this time.  
“So maybe you’re triplets?” Chelsea suggested, “separated at birth?”  
“Maybe,” Carey shrugged, “I don’t know, I feel like there’s something else going on here. Something bigger.”  
“Do you think Taylor Hanson in involved?”  
“Definitely,” Carey was more than sure.  
“Have you talked to him yet?”  
“No,” Carey admitted with a smirk, “I’ve done the exact opposite. I’ve avoided him completely.”  
“Why?”  
“I just think there’s too much drama there,” Carey turned another page, “and if something weird really is going on, we don’t exactly want it broadcast on CNN.”  
“But he’d have a right to know,” Chelsea pointed out.  
“I just want to focus on us first,” Carey pulled the conversation back, “and I’m really looking forward to meeting your husband.”  
“I’m looking forward to him meeting you,” she grinned.

Chelsea couldn’t stand still at the airport. She paced back and forth, staring at the clock on the wall, and checking her watch every now and then to be sure it was still the right time. His flight took forever to land, and despite being early it felt like it were an hour late.  
She was frustrated when he wasn’t first through the doors, convinced the military needed to pay for first class for them. They had to be sick of travelling by now, at least let them be first off the plane. About thirty people came through before she spotted the uniforms and she took off at a run. The moment he saw her his eyes lit up and he caught her as she ran into his arms.  
“Jess!” she cried, burying her face into his shoulder.  
“Hey!” he was grinning, having to stop on the spot and drop his backpack so he could hug her back.  
He lifted and spun her, not worried at all about the people who had to walk a wider girth around them. When he finally set her down he leant in to kiss her.  
“Come on now, get a room,” Blake’s voice made Jesse chuckle and forced him to pull back.  
“Nice to see you too Blake,” Chelsea gave him a quick hug as Jesse picked up his pack again.  
“Of course it is,” he grinned back, “without me you’d only have this ugly-ass face to look forward to.”  
“You know she married me, right?” Jesse’s eye narrowed as they began to walk.  
“Yeah I’m worried about her eyes too. Have you had them checked lately?”  
Chelsea hit Blake on the arm before taking Jesse’s hand in hers. He gave it a squeeze before leaning in to kiss her cheek.  
“I missed you,” he said under his breath.  
“Not as much as I missed you,” she bit her lip.  
“Come on!” Blake groaned.

As they approached the house Chelsea was getting nervous, and Jesse noticed right away. At first he didn’t say anything, but eventually he realized her hand was shaking in his.  
“What’s wrong?” he asked, “are the dogs okay?”  
“The dogs are fine,” she insisted.  
It took a moment to realize why he’d asked.  
“I have a surprise for you,” she admitted, “I just hope it’s a good one.”  
“A surprise for me?” he teased, “is it a stripper? ‘Cause you know I already had plans for tonight.”  
“I told you I ain’t coming over!” Blake insisted from the front seat.  
“No,” she scoffed, already at the point where she couldn’t laugh with them.  
Jesse gave her hand another squeeze, knowing he shouldn’t press her. When they finally pulled up to the house he immediately spotted the strange car sitting in the driveway and frowned.  
“We got a new car?” he guessed.  
“No,” she assured as the cab came to a halt.  
Confused now, Jesse pulled some cash from his pocket to hand to Blake to help pay for the ride. After a quick goodbye the couple got out, and Chelsea led the way through the gate as Jesse stopped to make sure the cab pulled away okay. Once it was out of sight he followed.  
“So what’s the big surprise?” he asked as they made it to the front door, “you’re making me nervous.”  
“You’ll see,” she assured, opening the front door.  
Jesse paused when he realized it hadn’t been locked, the hair on the back of his neck suddenly standing on end.  
“Who’s here?” he demanded, throwing the backpack inside the door as he readied himself for a fight.  
“Carey?!” she called out, “where are you?”  
“Kitchen!”  
Jesse paused at the voice and gave Chelsea an odd look. She indicated for him to lead the way as she closed the door behind them. Without hesitation he headed for his kitchen, finding a stranger leaning over the kitchen counter.  
Carey stood up when he saw him.  
“Wait… Taylor?” Jesse paused with a frown.  
“No,” Carey corrected, “my name’s Carey Miller. I’m from LA.”  
Jesse took a moment to process what he said, before a grin spread across his face.

Keandre was eating breakfast alone one morning when he felt someone behind him. When he turned to look over his shoulder he was surprised to find Louis.  
“Veux-tu le petit-déjeuner?/Do you want some breakfast?” he offered, holding out an orange.  
Louis just shook his head, and it took until that moment for Keandre to realize something was wrong.  
“Qu'Est-ce que c'est?/What is it?”  
“Serais-tu fâché si j'ai amené quelqu'un ici?/Would you be mad if I brought someone here?” Louis asked nervously.  
“Qui?/Who?” Keandre frowned.  
“Un ami/A friend.”  
“Est-ce qu'ils sont en difficulté?/Are they in trouble?” Keandre asked, taking another bite of apple.  
“Peut être/Maybe.”  
Keandre thought it over, before standing from his seat.  
“Les verrez-vous ce matin?/Will you see them this morning?” he wiped his hands on a towel.  
“Oui.”  
“Ensuite, je viendrai avec vous/Then I will come with you.”  
Louis looked unsure, but he nodded. He’d only been at the house for about a week now so he hadn’t quite gotten the hang of who was in charge and whatnot, but he knew that if he had a problem to either find Keandre or Rhianna. He’d gotten close enough to those two.  
Keandre took Louis and one of the other kids to school that morning, and despite staying clear of the actual school grounds promised Louis that he would be nearby when he was needed. When he realized which kid Louis had been talking about, he instantly recognized him as the friend that had walked ‘home’ with Louis the day he’d first approached him. He wasn’t going to admit it, but he’d already had his eye on that kid too. Louis’ situation had just been more dire.  
Waiting until after school, Louis found Keandre right where he’d left him that morning, and quickly introduced his friend Leo.  
“Louis et Leo?” Keandre mused, “vous deux vont bien ensemble/you two go together well.”  
“C'est le problème monsieur/That’s the problem Mister,” Leo adjusted his backpack, “Ils nous appellent des noms/they call us names.”  
“Vos frères aussi/So do your brothers,” Keandre agreed.  
“Comment avez-vous connu?/How did you know?” Leo looked to Louis.  
“Ne vous inquiétez pas/Don’t worry,” Keandre assured, “viens. Nous avons quelque chose à vous montrer/come. We have something to show you.”  
“Êtes-vous sûr?/Are you sure?” Leo checked with Louis as Keandre began to walk away.  
“C'est sur/It’s safe,” Louis insisted, “allons!”  
Keandre grinned to himself as he led the two youngsters away.


	5. Chapter 5

“So we’re the same age,” Jesse hadn’t taken his eyes off the newcomer, despite already suffering jetlag, “but when’s your birthday?”  
“April 15, as far as I know,” Carey shrugged.  
“March 16th,” Jesse countered, “I had my doubts too, but I figured Taylor could be lying about it being the 14th.”  
“Who knows?” Carey shrugged, “we only think it’s the date that it is because of paperwork. Anything could be forged.”  
“I don’t know about that,” Jesse winced, “my parents are good people.”  
“I’m not saying they aren’t,” Carey assured, “but maybe they were conned?”  
“Can I get you boys something else to drink?” Chelsea asked when she walked by the counter, noticing Jesse’s beer bottle was empty.  
“Coffee, thank you,” he slid the bottle across to her and she promptly binned it, “we might be here all night.”  
“Same, thanks,” Carey nodded with a smile.  
“You should get some sleep. He’ll still be here in the morning,” Chelsea insisted, “and don’t tell me you slept on the flight ‘cause I know you be lying.”  
Jesse just shrugged.  
“Sorry for keeping him up,” Carey apologized.  
“He’s a grown man,” Chelsea set to work on making the coffee, “no need to apologize for what he’s doing to himself.”  
“On the plus side, I do have a week off as of today,” Jesse pointed out, “maybe I could come out to LA for a bit.”  
“That might not be a good idea,” Carey cautioned, “I haven’t told my brother what I’m doing yet. He doesn’t know about you.”  
“You have a brother?” Jesse was curious.  
Chelsea cast a glance at Carey over her shoulder.  
“Yeah,” Carey diverted his eyes, “uh… he’s a twin.”  
Jesse blinked at that before leaning forward.  
“Like an identical twin?” his brow rose.  
“Yeah, like an identical twin,” Carey admitted, wondering how he was going to take it.  
“So there’s four of us,” he tried to understand.  
“Looks like. I mean, so far.”  
“So far?” Jesse wasn’t sure he was processing it right.  
He paused as Chelsea set his coffee down, wondering if this would be enough to keep himself thinking straight.  
“I got curious,” Carey shifted in his seat as he began to elaborate, “I mean between us and Taylor… I wondered if there might be more and you being here is not only proving me right but it’s making me wonder how many there might be.”  
Jesse’s eyes narrowed, and Carey worried for a moment that he was going to call him a creep and tell him to get out of his house.  
“What exactly do you think is going on?” he asked instead.  
“I don’t know,” Carey answered honestly, “I’ve checked and I’m pretty sure I’m not being watched by anyone or anything, so I don’t know that it’s government… but what else?”  
“Quadruplets?” Jesse had taken a second to think of the word, “we all could have been adopted. It’s rare for sure, but I wouldn’t think it’d be unheard of.”  
“There’s been nothing at all anywhere about Taylor being adopted, and believe me I’ve checked. I’ve looked as hard as I could,” Carey assured.  
“I’m not sure that if he were – and I’m not saying that he is – that it’s something they’d necessarily publicize,” Jesse pointed out.  
“But he does look like his siblings,” Carey pointed out.  
“So maybe his parents are actually ours?”  
Carey paused, starting to bite his nails. Of course he’d thought of the possibility but hearing it out loud was somewhat nerve wracking.  
“If they are, they didn’t want us,” he finally decided, “they got rid of us for a reason. So contact isn’t an option.”  
Jesse shrugged at that.  
“I just want to know how many of us are out there,” Carey rubbed his hands together.  
“You could be looking forever,” Jesse’s brow rose, “there’s probably a hundred lookalikes out there.”  
“But we don’t just look the same,” Carey insisted, “we _are_ the same. We have the same teeth, the same moles… I’ve studied genetics and this is more than just identical cells sprouting from the same parent. We are similar in ways that natural genetics just simply can’t explain!”  
“Maybe you boys should go to bed,” Chelsea interrupted, feeling the sudden tension in the room.  
“Yeah,” Jesse reluctantly agreed, “this is going a lot deeper than my tired brain can manage right now.”  
“Sorry,” Carey winced.  
“This has been great,” Jesse felt the need to reassure him, “and I do really appreciate you turning up and dumping this on me. But I also get the feeling this isn’t something that’s going to be covered in one night.”  
Chelsea was nodding.  
“Or a week, or a year even,” Jesse mused, “so how long do you have?”  
“I need to get home tomorrow or my girlfriend will kill me,” Carey smirked, “I need to find a job so I can afford to keep our place.”  
“You’re still a bit young to be out on your own,” Jesse considered.  
Carey’s eyes narrowed and he pointedly looked around.  
“You’re studying,” Jesse corrected pointedly, “I’ve got two careers already set for me, so we’re already making this home what we want it to be for the future. Am I wrong in guessing your home ain’t exactly a home?”  
“Right,” Carey admitted, staring down at his coffee.  
“You got a ways to go,” Jesse shrugged, “you’ve only lived like a fifth of your life. There’s no rush.”  
“Well… not to get emo on you or anything,” Carey mused, “but I’ve always felt like I wasn’t really destined to live that long.”  
Jesse sighed and stood from his seat. Carey knew instantly that he’d overstepped. It was just scarily easy to talk to Jesse. It reminded him of talks he used to have with Mark when they were younger.  
“Is he set up in the guest room?” Jesse checked with Chelsea.  
“All ready,” she assured.  
“Thanks again,” Carey looked over his shoulder.  
He didn’t even flinch when Jesse put a hand on his shoulder.  
“Goodnight Carey,” he gave him a smile before disappearing down the hall.  
Chelsea finished cleaning up while Carey’s attention went back to the photos on the walls. It was hitting him again that he was really here – that he’d really found someone like Jesse. He was already wanting to get back to work on trying to find more.  
“Are you staying up?” Chelsea asked him when she was ready to follow her husband.  
“Just a little while,” he assured, “I won’t be able to sleep, sorry.”  
“TV remote is on the couch if you need it,” she offered with a smile before also leaving the room.  
Carey looked across to it, but didn’t bother to move. His mind was too busy racing already.

“See you tomorrow,” Mark gave his friend a salute as they parted ways at the corner of the street.  
He could already see the lights still on at home, and he paused to sigh to himself. It was already close to midnight so his stepfather being awake couldn’t mean anything good. Knowing he couldn’t avoid it forever, he made his way up to the door and headed inside. Noises told him Gerard was in the kitchen.  
Mark quietly placed a few hundred dollars on the table to cover the next week’s rent before attempting to slink past the open doorway and head for his room.  
“YOU!”  
He froze on the spot, gritting his teeth. He’d been seen.  
“Where have you been?!”  
“Out,” Mark replied, not bothering to make eye contact.  
Gerard stumbled toward him and Mark’s eyes went to his hands. He was just the right amount of drunk to get enough warning if the man was going to aim for him.  
“Where have you been?” he demanded again, standing tall as if to assert his dominance.  
It didn’t matter that Mark was already taller - it automatically made him feel small.  
“Just out,” he tried to shrug it off, “with friends.”  
“Do you have any idea what today is?”  
Mark frowned at that, quickly struggling to think.  
“Tuesday?” he guessed.  
He flinched back when Gerard took hold of his arm. The grip was tight.  
“Guess again.”  
Mark’s heart was starting to race and he felt like he was walking into a trap. He wasn’t even sure if there was a right answer.  
“I haven’t got all night,” Gerard scorned, not letting him go.  
“Did I miss something?” Mark shook his head, “did you have an AA meeting? Were you-“  
Gerard used his grip to throw Mark into the wall.  
“Typical brainless kid,” he was seething, “you don’t even care that it’s the day she died.”  
Mark held his shoulder where it had hit the wall, instantly regretting that he hadn’t paid attention to the calendar.  
It was the fifth anniversary of their mother’s death. No wonder he’d still been awake.  
Gerard made to hit him across the head but Mark managed to duck out of the way. The movement only angered Gerard further. Unable to get past him to get to his room, Mark knew he’d have to stand his ground.  
“I care,” he insisted, “of course I fucking care! You think our lives would have turned into such a shithole if she were still here?!”  
“Maybe,” his stepfather’s eyes narrowed, “you kids would have driven her away eventually.”  
“She was _our_ mother before she was ever your fuck buddy,” Mark scowled, “how fucking dare you!”  
“You watch your tone with me!”  
“Why? Why should I?” Mark’s voice only rose, “you lost our respect the moment you took up the bottle. You can’t even stand straight enough to hit me right now.”  
Gerard tried anyway, but Mark easily ducked.  
“See?” he smirked, “you worthless piece of shit. Why don’t you get off your ass and get a job so I don’t have to support this fucking trash pile of yours solo?”  
“Why don’t you move out like your brother did?” Gerard scorned, “get out of my life!”  
“Life?” Mark laughed, “you call this a ‘life’? I have to stick around just to make sure you don’t accidentally kill yourself! You left the stove on yesterday! Not to mention the gas leak we had last week.”  
“I don’t need you to fix anything,” Gerard grumbled, walking back into the living room.  
“So you’d rather die?” Mark followed him this time, “because that’s what’s going to happen!”  
“Maybe I would!”  
“Then fucking hurry up with it and free us already!”  
“Fuck you!” Gerard spat, grabbing his keys, “I don’t need to take this in my own damn house!”  
“It’s not your house, it’s mine,” Mark corrected, “I’m the one paying for it!”  
Gerard scoffed again and went to the door. Realizing what he was doing, Mark suddenly ran after him.  
“Give me the keys,” he demanded, holding his hand out.  
Gerard ignored him.  
“Give me the keys!” Mark’s voice rose again, “you’re too tanked to drive!”  
“Shut up!” came a distant yell from a neighbor.  
“SHUT UP YOURSELF!” Mark hit back, “MIND YOUR BUSINESS! Dad, give me the damn keys!”  
Gerard had fumbled, but managed to get the door of his car open. Mark quickly managed to pull him back and close it again, but the action meant he couldn’t duck Gerard’s next hit. He clocked him right across the jaw sending Mark stumbling backward.  
In the time it took Mark to recover Gerard got himself in the car and locked the doors.  
“Fine,” Mark seethed as the car started up, “fucking kill yourself. See if I care!”  
He shook his head as he held his cheek, walking back up to the front door. The car revved and pulled out into the street, Mark only looking up again when he heard the tires screeching on the asphalt. It was just in time to see the car hit the pole of a streetlight head on.  
Mark froze as he took a moment to comprehend what had happened before jumping the porch rails and racing toward the car.


	6. Chapter 6

Gerard was unconscious before Mark got to the car. At the sight of the powerlines across the hood, he knew he couldn’t touch it to help. A neighbor called 911. Sirens quickly echoed through the quiet streets.  
“What happened?” an older woman appeared at his side seemingly out of nowhere.  
“I didn’t see it,” Mark shook his head before putting his hands there, “he was drunk and he just took off!”  
More people emerged to see why the power had gone off, but no one came to help. Police were quick to cordon off the area. The fire truck arrived soon after and it was quickly followed by an ambulance. As soon as Mark had seen the incoming lights he’d known it was a possibility, but he still felt a sinking feeling in his gut when he saw the cops approaching.  
“Mark Miller,” the older sergeant’s eyes were on him right away.  
“Yeah,” his own eyes didn’t leave the car.  
They were working to remove the power lines before being able to touch the car.  
“That your Dad in that car?”  
“Yes,” he folded his arms.  
“Mind telling me how this happened, son?”  
“He was drunk,” Mark shrugged, “we had an argument. He left.”  
They finally pulled the lines from the car and the paramedics darted forward. Mark tried to join them but the second officer grabbed him by the arm.  
“Not so fast,” he insisted.  
“Calm down son,” the sergeant could see him getting riled up, “you need to come and have a talk with us. You know the drill.”  
“I just wanna know he’s okay!” Mark started to lose it, “let me see that he’s okay!”  
They both paused to look over their shoulders. In any other situation Mark would have taken the moment to run.  
They’d pulled a gurney from the ambulance and were starting to move Gerard onto it.  
“That’s a good sign,” the younger officer assured.  
“Also means you won’t know more until he’s been checked out at the clinic,” the sergeant insisted, “so your best bet right now is to come along with us.”  
Mark made them wait until he saw them loading his father into the bus, before a threat of leaving in cuffs had him relent. Promising to keep him updated they took him back to the station.

“Care, it’s late.”  
“I know I’m sorry,” he awkwardly rubbed his lap, “I can’t sleep.”  
“What’s wrong?”  
“Nothing, it went great,” he faked a smile, “Jesse’s a really great guy. I look forward to getting to know him better.”  
“But…?” Emma asked after a pause.  
“But I don’t think we agree on what this is,” Carey admitted.  
“How can he agree when you don’t even know what you think this is?”  
“I think he thinks it’s chance,” Carey shrugged, “that this is all just some kind of biological fluke. That we’re just random doubles.”  
“Care you know that’s still a possibility, right?”  
“I don’t think it is. I think this has gone too far.”  
“By three? Come on Care. It’s not unheard of.”  
“Then why would the Hansons get rid of us?” he frowned, “if we were theirs, how could they? Their religion alone wouldn’t have allowed them to.”  
“We don’t know them, Care. We don’t know what might have been going on for them in the 80s.”  
“Do you honestly think we could all be Hansons?” his eyes narrowed.  
“I don’t know. But maybe it’s time you found out for sure.”  
“How?” he frowned again.  
“Maybe it’s time you looked for your birth mother?”

Mark’s heel was tapping erratically as he came down from the high. He didn’t have any drugs on him at the time, but he knew everybody could already tell. He felt like everyone in the station was staring at him as he sat beside a desk instead of in the boarding cell for once.  
It felt like forever before anyone came back to see him.  
“Mr Miller,” the officer took a seat.  
“How’s my Dad?” he demanded without eye contact.  
“We’ll take you over to the hospital when we’re done here,” the officer promised, “depending on what happened.”  
“What does that mean?” Mark frowned.  
“We just have to cover all bases, make sure no criminal charges need to be filed.”  
“What criminal charges?” Mark looked up.  
“Witnesses say you and your Dad got into a fight.”  
“So?” he shrugged, “we fought all the time, he’s an asshole.”  
“So because you got in a fight, your Dad tried to leave?”  
Mark paused at that, suddenly realizing what was going on.  
“You’re trying to pin this on me?” his brow rose.  
“Not at all,” the officer assured, “unless you are, in fact, at fault. What do you think?”  
“I think this is bullshit!” Mark exclaimed, “he could be dying and you got me here waiting for what?! Just so you can do some fucking paperwork instead of sitting around eating donuts all night?!”  
“Calm down.”  
“Fuck calming down!” Mark scorned, “I want to see my Dad!”  
“That won’t happen unless you calm down.”  
“Then let me call my brother. I get a phone call, right?”  
“Mr Miller, you’re not under arrest.”  
Mark took a moment to digest that before standing from the chair.  
“Sit down,” the officer grunted.  
“Find some evidence and arrest me or go fuck yourself,” Mark scorned before walking out.

It took some time and a few bus rides but Mark eventually made it to the hospital. When enquiring after his stepfather he was told he was in surgery. Knowing that if he waited around where they wanted him to the cops were sure to catch up with him, he chose to wait in the halls instead. Despite the time that had already passed, it was nearing sunrise when a doctor finally came to find him.  
“Your father has stabilized,” he was informed, “he had some internal bleeding that we’ve taken care of and with time and bedrest he should be physically fine.”  
“Physically,” Mark picked up on right away, standing up from where he’d been leaning against the wall.  
“I’m afraid your father suffered a stroke,” the doctor was sympathetic.  
“A stroke? What does that mean?” Mark’s mind was racing.  
“It means he has suffered what appears to be irreparable brain damage. It may even have been the cause of the accident.”  
Mark took a moment to comprehend it before stepping aside. The doctor waited patiently while he took a while to compose himself.  
“How bad?” he eventually asked.  
“We’ll know when he wakes up,” the doctor assured, “he should wake up sometime tomorrow.”  
Mark looked back down the hall toward the hospital doors.  
“Can I stay here until then?” he asked.  
“We don’t really have the facilities…”  
“It’s cool, I can sleep in the waiting room,” Mark assured, “I just have to call my brother.”  
“That’s not a problem. There’s a payphone outside.”  
“What happens,” Mark stopped him before he could walk away, “if the brain damage is bad. Like do you think he’ll be able to talk? Will he be paralysed? Like, what?”  
“We’ll know more tomorrow,” the doctor promised, “get some sleep Mr Miller.”  
Mark watched him walk away before checking his jean pockets for change. Finding enough for a call he headed outside to look for the phone.

Carey had reluctantly said goodnight to Emma long before his phone rang. Worried that it was her calling back, he forced his tired eyes open and reached down to the floor where the phone had fallen. He didn’t see the screen before answering.  
“What’s wrong?” he asked, rolling onto his back and hugging the cushion again.  
“It’s Dad.”  
“What’s Dad?” Carey frowned.  
“He’s in the hospital. It’s bad.”  
Carey struggled to sit himself up, finally recognizing the voice.  
“What happened? Do you need me to come home?” he was already trying to work out the logistics.  
“He had a stroke behind the wheel and got in an accident,” Mark was leaning against the side of the phone booth, “they’re waiting for him to wake up so they can see what brain damage he has. It doesn’t look good.”  
“What hospital? I’ll leave now,” Carey sat up further.  
“Don’t bother,” Mark insisted, “just get here when you can. It’s not like we can do anything.”  
Carey looked across at the time display on the VCR.  
“What time did it happen?” he frowned.  
“Few hours ago. They dragged me down the station in case I had something to do with it.”  
Carey rolled his eyes.  
“Did you?” he had to ask.  
“No,” Mark scorned, “we had a fight. I tried to get the keys off him but he hit me.”  
“Then he brought it on himself,” Carey was blunt.  
Mark paused at that before looking over his shoulder as another ambulance pulled in.  
“I guess we disagree there,” he muttered.  
“What was that?”  
“Nothing. Call me when you get home and I’ll update you.”  
“I’ll call you tomorrow from the road,” Carey countered, “what about the hospital fees?”  
“I got it, don’t worry,” Mark scoffed again, “bye.”  
He hung up before Carey could respond. Carey sighed to himself and dropped the phone onto the couch beside him as he wondered how he was supposed to try and sleep again after that.  
“Problem at home?”  
He looked over his shoulder to see Jesse standing in the doorway. By his lean it looked like he’d been there a while.  
“Our Dad,” Carey admitted, “he’s not well. Sorry if I woke you.”  
“Naw,” Jesse made his way over, “jetlag. Added with being used to only sleeping a couple hours at a time.”  
“And you’re sure you’re not just Taylor in hiding?”  
Jesse smirked at that, taking a seat on the arm of the couch.  
“I spoke to Emma,” he sat back, clutching the cushion again.  
“What did she say?” Jesse raised a brow.  
“She says I should look for my birth mother,” Carey shook his head, “I mean if it turns out that it’s Di Hanson, that answers that question once and for all.”  
“What’s stopped you before now?” Jesse frowned.  
“I’ve never really had the opportunity,” Carey admitted, “I mean I’ve wanted to, sure. But I always figured that kind of thing would cost money we don’t have. I just thought it was something I’d get around to eventually.”  
“Maybe now’s the time?” Jesse suggested.  
“Maybe.”  
Carey scratched his arm in the awkward pause that followed.  
“Have you ever tried?” he asked.  
“No,” Jesse shook his head, “I’ve never felt the need. I’m pretty happy with the parents I’ve got.”  
“You never wondered if you were a Hanson?” Carey raised a brow.  
“Of course,” Jesse shrugged, “but I’ve tried to pay it no mind. We each have our own lives. I don’t know that I would have chosen the path that he has if I’d had the opportunity.”  
“I’m not musical either,” Carey agreed.  
Jesse smiled to himself before looking back over his shoulder.  
“You should try the bed,” he suggested, “it’s comfy, I promise.”  
“I know, I slept there last night,” Carey assured.  
“You’ll want to be heading off early in the AM to get back to your family,” Jesse added, “maybe some shut-eye ain’t the worst idea?”  
“I don’t know that I could sleep yet.”  
“You seem pretty close already. Need something to help?”  
Carey paused, trying to work out exactly how close to sleeping he was.  
“No I think I’m good,” he shook his head.  
“Then go to bed,” Jesse put his foot down.  
Carey hated to admit that despite their same age, Jesse was pretty intimidating. It was an odd sensation considering he couldn’t remember ever feeling this way about Mark. Maybe it was just because it was dark and he could only see his silhouette. Whatever the reason, Carey relented.  
He grabbed his cell phone from the floor again and stood, setting the cushion back down.  
“You’ll feel better for it in the morning, I promise,” Jesse mused as he walked past.  
“I know. Thanks,” Carey offered a smile before disappearing.  
Jesse watched after him before looking back at the TV. Turning so he could fall back onto the couch, he took up Carey’s previous position and settled in to watching some terrible midnight shows in the hopes of sleeping again.


	7. Chapter 7

Mark barely slept, instead opting to pace the halls day and night. By the time Carey eventually found him he looked like a total wreck.  
“Where is he?” he asked first.  
“Still in recovery, they’re talking about moving him out today,” Mark’s speech was a little slurred, giving away just how tired he was.  
“Have you talked to him?” Carey looked down the hall, wondering which direction it was in.  
Mark shook his head.  
“But he’s awake, right?” Carey frowned.  
“Yeah,” Mark shrugged.  
“Where?”  
Mark pointed, and Carey immediately led the way. After reassuring the nurse in the room that he was definitely related to his stepfather, he had to pause when he finally laid eyes on him.  
He couldn’t remember ever seeing him this incapacitated before. It took his breath away.  
Mark appeared to lean in the doorway, but wouldn’t come into the room.  
“Dad?” Carey tried, unsure if he were awake at all.  
He was sitting up slightly, but his eyes were drooping and didn’t look focused. The nurse made her way to Gerard’s side and put a hand on his shoulder.  
“Is he awake?” Carey frowned.  
“He is,” she assured with a smile, “he can hear you fine.”  
Carey gulped at that, before looking back at his brother. Mark made eye contact but his own eyes weren’t very focused either.  
“What does he need?” Carey asked the nurse, “what do we have to do?”  
The nurse looked to Mark.  
“He just got here,” he explained, “I haven’t told him anything.”  
“Told me what?” Carey frowned, getting more worried by the second.  
“Your father is going to need around the clock care,” the nurse was sympathetic, “once the doctors here are happy that he has stabilised, he will need to be moved into a hospice of your choosing.”  
Carey took a moment to understand what she’d said, before looking down at his father again and heading for the door. He grabbed Mark roughly by the arm and pulled him back into the corridor.  
“ _Hospice_?” he demanded between his teeth.  
“Or some other proper care facility,” Mark shrugged again, “I didn’t want to say it over the phone.”  
“We can’t afford anything like this,” Carey was starting to fret, “if he’s going to need this care for the rest of his life, he might as well be a ward of the state.”  
“I can cover it,” Mark attempted to blow off, “whatever it takes, I can do it.”  
“Mark, you can’t do it,” Carey told him outright, “not legally.”  
“Who said anything about legally?” Mark scorned.  
Carey looked back toward the door, making sure the nurse was out of earshot.  
“I think we need to cut our losses,” he admitted, chewing on his bottom lip anxiously, “maybe this is just the break you needed to get out of that house.”  
“What are you saying?” Mark frowned, looking up for the first time.  
“I’m saying we should leave,” Carey confirmed, “I’m saying we leave him in the capable hands of the state of California, and we worry about ourselves. One less mouth to feed.”  
“Are you fucking kidding me?!”  
“He has done nothing but hold you back. You could have been in college by now!” Carey insisted, “imagine what you could do, how far you could go, if you didn’t have to worry about him day and night? Whether it’s because he’s drunk and abusive or whether it’s now because he probably can’t even clean himself.”  
“Do you even hear what you’re saying to me right now?” Mark was scowling, suddenly a lot more awake, “we’re not going to just abandon him. That’s our _father_ in there!”  
“Conveniently forgetting all the times he threw it in our faces that he’s not?” Carey pointed out.  
“Like him or not, that man raised us,” Mark met Carey’s stare, “we owe him something. Something running ain’t gonna solve.”  
“It doesn’t count as running if you’re saving your ass,” Carey shook his head, “how much longer before he went into a rage so intense he accidentally killed one or both of you?”  
“Unlike you, I could handle it,” Mark scowled, “because I face my problems, I don’t run away from them.”  
Carey rolled his eyes at that.  
“I wasn’t running,” he said between his teeth, “I was starting to live, and the door was always open for you to come along too.”  
“You are missing the _entire point_ ,” Mark seethed.  
“No, you’re missing the point!” Carey fired back, “do you think he’d bother taking a second glance if it were _you_ in that room and not him?”  
“It doesn’t matter!”  
“It does matter! It’s the whole damn point! Family is supposed to give a damn about each other, do you really think he does? At all?!”  
“What do you think I’m trying to do?!”  
Carey paused, at first not sure of what he’d meant.  
“He’s not family,” he tried to reiterate, “we lost our family when mom died.”  
“Maybe you did, but I didn’t give up,” Mark scorned before walking past to go back to the room.  
Carey grabbed him by the arm to stop him, but Mark’s reaction was to land a right hook. Not expecting the blow it took him a moment to recover, but he was on Mark before he got to the door.

It took three orderlies to break them up, and by the end of it Mark had a bloody nose and Carey was holding his left wrist. As security was called they both took the breather to calm themselves down.  
“You can do what you want, you always have anyway,” Carey’s eyes were on his brother despite two men now standing between them, “but this is officially not my problem.”  
“Like it ever was,” Mark glared back.  
Security finally came and Carey was voluntarily the chosen one to be escorted out. The nurse who’d been watching their father took a quick look at Mark’s nose for him, but quickly discerned that there were no broken bones. He was taken to a nurse’s station where he was quickly patched up.  
“I’m sure your brother will come around,” she tried to encourage him, “incidents like these can be very stressful. People react in many different ways.”  
“I don’t know about that,” Mark was looking to the ceiling as she cleaned blood from his face.  
“Sorry?” she pulled back.  
Mark sighed to himself before lifting the side of his black shirt. He watched her expression change when she saw the bruising.  
“I think some reactions are learned,” Mark put it back down, “Dad gave that to me the night he drove into the pole. My brother and I just learned from him. The face thing’s from my brother too.”  
The nurse didn’t know what to say to that, so she said nothing and got back to work. Mark waited patiently for her to finish before heading back to check on Gerard again.

“Keandre?”  
He stopped short in the hall and turned to look over his shoulder. Rhianna’s silhouette was coming toward him.  
“Oui?” he frowned, seeing how worried she looked, “sont les garçons d'accord?/are the boys okay?”  
“Ils vont bien/They’re fine,” she insisted, “Henry a perdu son emploi aujourd'hui/Henry lost his job today.”  
Keandre groaned at that and leant back against the wall.  
“Il nous a vraiment aidé/He was really helping us,” she added.  
“Je connais, je connais/I know, I know,” Keandre assured, “Je trouverai un autre travail/I’ll find another job.”  
“Merci,” Rhianna gave him a smile before continuing down the hall.  
He watched her leave before turning back in the direction he’d come from. He met Sylvain back in the bedroom.  
“Henry a perdu son travail/Henry lost his job,” he informed him as he began to look for some decent clothes.  
“Henry?” Sylvain frowned, “Que s'est-il passé?/what happened?”  
“Je ne sais pas/I don’t know.”  
Keandre picked up a white shirt and smelled the armpits.  
“Mais j'ai besoin d'un nouveau travail/But I need a new job,” he informed him, “Je dois aider à payer cette maison./I have to help pay for this house.”  
“Vous étiez déjà/You already were,” Sylvain insisted.  
“Pas assez/Not enough,” Keandre grabbed some pants and shoes to go with the shirt, “n'attendez pas pour moi/don’t wait up for me.”  
Sylvain shrugged before he left the room.

Keandre had plenty of time before the younger kids got out of school to do a quick job search in two of the small nearby towns. He didn’t know a trade or have much experience of anything, but he was a fast learner and willing to work hard. He managed to collect a couple of phone numbers and at least one confirmed job interview before going to check on the kids at closing time. By the time he got to the school however, he saw one of the girls around his age from the compound already waiting. He made his way over just as the school began to let out.  
“Salut,” he greeted her from behind, making her smirk when she realized who it was.  
“Nous ne pensions pas que vous seriez ici/We didn’t think you’d be here,” she admitted.  
“Je ne devrais pas être/I shouldn’t be,” he shrugged, “j'essaie de trouver du travail/I’m trying to find work.”  
“Réintégrer/Go back,” she insisted, “je peux gérer cela/I can handle this.”  
“Êtes-vous sûr?/Are you sure?” he checked.  
She playfully pushed him in the chest and made him chuckle.  
“Ne me bébé pas/Don’t baby me,” she scorned, before they both eyed the kids emerging from the school.  
Keandre waited around to greet them, before separating from the group as they made their way home. He went back to continue where he’d left off and soon landed an on-the-spot interview for a hotel site handyman. The interview went well and he was invited back the following day, but it was well and truly dark by the time he began to head home.  
It may have been the somewhat familiar dark streets that he’d spent his earlier teen years navigating, but something made the hairs on his neck stand on end. He looked around many times but nothing seemed out of place. Just in case, he took the scenic route home, arriving back a lot later than originally intended.

“It’s interesting, don’t you think?” Chelsea was setting the plates on the counter, ready to serve dinner, “I think he’s mighty paranoid but I agree that it’s a little odd.”  
“Odd is one word for it,” Jesse agreed, sitting at the table already.  
“What do you think?” she asked him.  
Jesse paused, but shrugged.  
“I don’t know,” he admitted as the phone started to ring, “I don’t think it really changes all that much. It feels like our family just grew is all.”  
Chelsea considered that before answering the call. Jesse’s attention was caught by the nightly news and he didn’t see her reaction.  
“Jess?” she called, “honey it’s for you.”  
He quickly stood and went to take it from her, leaning against the wall where the phone hook hung.  
“Hello?” he wondered who’d be calling during dinner hour.  
“Private Musgrove, this is Command Sergeant Roy Durrell. I hope I haven’t called at a bad time.”  
“No Sir,” Jesse’s eyes went to Chelsea, worried that it kind of was.  
But he wouldn’t admit that to a man of this rank.  
“What can I do for you Command Sergeant Durrell?”  
Chelsea’s eyebrows rose in surprise, before quickly returning their casserole to the oven to keep warm.  
“I’ve just called your friend Private Rickett with a similar offer, and he decided he’d only come on board if you did. So here’s your call.”  
“Okay…?” Jesse was confused.  
“We’ve been watching both of your progress in the field so far. We’re very impressed. I’d like you to come with us on a mission across to Western Asia next week. It will be a classified mission, but if all goes well it may help you progress that rank of yours a little sooner.”  
“To Specialist?” Jesse assumed.  
“Perhaps a little more than that. Could I mark you down as interested at all?”  
“Sure, that would be great,” Jesse instantly thought of the pay increase that might be involved, “when do we leave?”  
“Tuesday afternoon. I’ll have a courier send over your paperwork in the morning. Glad to have you on board, son.”


	8. Chapter 8

The first time Mark went home, it felt like a different place. Like he’d stumbled into an alternate dimension and he was about to start living the life of a random double. Nothing had changed. The kitchen light was still on, and when he ventured that far he realized his father had left something on the stove. Thankfully not turned on, but the food was aging badly nonetheless. He took hold of the pot and threw the whole thing in the trash.  
He started to clean up the empty beer bottles scattered over the counters and the floor, but he soon realized he didn’t have enough trash bags to clean properly. In defeat he sat on the kitchen floor in silence for a few minutes, listening to the neighbors outside and to the rhythm of his own breathing.  
Somehow he had to get into the city in the next two days to organize his father’s future care in person. Now that Carey was back he had the use of his car, but he’d always hated city traffic.  
He reached up to the counter where he knew the cordless phone had been left, pulling the receiver down and rubbing his eyes before dialling.  
“Yo?” the answer was quick.  
“Hey it’s me,” Mark cleared his throat, “you got any jobs that need a wingman in the city tomorrow?”  
“Maybe. Why?”  
“I gotta go in there anyway and I could use the extra cash.”  
“I’ll send Davey over around 11.”  
“Cool thanks.”  
The call ended and Mark leant back against the cupboard again. He was still surrounded by beer bottles, and he knew not all of them were empty. He grabbed one to his right which felt more than half full, and downed most of it in one go.

Because Keandre had gotten home so late, he’d traded chores with Sylvain for the night and gone to bed early. As a result he was up before most of the household and after making himself a thermos of coffee he headed out into the small orchard behind the gardens to fetch some fresh fruit for the morning’s breakfast. The sun was just starting to rise, placing a golden hue over the landscape. He wished he had time to paint it but there were more important things to do for now.  
He set the thermos into a fork on one of the apple trees and started to collect some ripened fruit. A mesh bag thrown over his shoulder let him collect them at his hip. All he could hear as he worked were the chirps of the early birds and he soon found himself whistling along with them.  
He didn’t notice it at first, and he wasn’t sure that he’d heard it when he did. But once he paused to listen closer he knew that he was hearing it for sure. The sound made his blood run cold.  
There was an answering whistle from off in the trees, and the tune was one he knew all too well.  
He looked over his shoulder toward the sound. He couldn’t see him yet, but he knew he was close. He wanted to run but his legs suddenly felt like concrete blocks. He wasn’t going anywhere.  
“Qui est là?/Who’s there?” he finally built the nerve to call out.  
His stomach fell when he heard the footsteps, his fears having been confirmed.  
His stepfather looked different. The years hadn’t been kind.  
“Keandre,” he greeted him with a warm smile.  
Keandre still didn’t move. He wasn’t sure that he could if he wanted to.  
“Je vous ai manqué/I missed you,” his father came closer, already aware of his plight, “Est ce que ça va?/are you okay?”  
Keandre wanted to tell him he was fine. That he was better than ever, now that he was free. But his mind was racing. How was he found? Was it by chance, or had he been searching for him all this time? What if he found the children Keandre helped shelter?  
His father sighed and came forward to put a hand on his shoulder.  
“Avez-vous pensé que je ne vous trouverais pas?/Did you think I wouldn’t find you?” his voice lowered.  
“Non,” Keandre admitted as the hand ventured up to the back of his neck.  
His father pulled him in for a hug. Keandre could feel the genuine longing on his father’s part, but he couldn’t reciprocate it.  
He still had an apple in his left hand.  
“Vous m'avez attendu/You’ve been waiting for me,” Keandre could hear the smile in his voice, “Il est temps de rentrer à la maison/it’s time to go home.”  
“Non.”  
His father pulled back, looking genuinely confused.  
“Il est temps de rentrer à la maison/It’s time to go home,” he repeated, “arrête d'être idiot. Tu t'es amusé. Il est temps de grandir./stop being silly. You’ve had your fun. It’s time to grow up.”  
“Je ne veux pas/I don’t want to,” Keandre felt the lump in his throat.  
He hated that he instantly felt like a child again. Merely the sound of his father’s voice made him feel as small as the day he’d left. They were now about the same height but it made no difference. It felt like nothing had changed between them at all.  
His father’s grip tightened a little.  
“Ce n'est pas une demande/This is not a request,” he said firmly, “vous vous êtes amusé, le temps est écoulé./you’ve had your fun, now time is up.”  
Keandre felt a chill in his spine, and quickly tried to duck away. His father grabbed him by the throat instead and slammed him back against the tree. Keandre grunted as the thin branches of the tree dug into his back, hearing the thermos fall to the ground with a thud to the side.  
“Se comporter/Behave,” his father scorned, “ne soyez pas difficile/don’t be difficult.”  
“Je ne t'appartiens pas plus/I don’t belong to you anymore,” Keandre struggled to get out, staring his father directly in the eye, “Je suis parti/I left.”  
“Vous avez été pris/You were taken,” his father scorned, “Vous étiez un enfant/you were a child.”  
“J'ai 19 ans. Je suis un adulte maintenant./I’m 19. I’m an adult now,” Keandre gulped slightly, worried he’d strangle him then and there, “et je ne veux pas partir./and I don’t want to leave.”  
“Vous ne savez pas ce que vous voulez. Vous êtes perdu. Laissez-moi vous aider/You don’t know what you want. You are lost. Let me help you.”

Keandre didn’t see it coming, having been too focused on the man in front of him. But he felt part of the splash as the hot coffee hit his father in the face. He screamed and immediately backed off, leaving Keandre grabbing at his neck before looking to the side.  
Rhianna stood there with an empty thermos. The shorter woman, easily in her early 50s, had fire in her eyes. And she wasn’t looking at Keandre.  
“Laisser!/Leave!” she demanded once he’d had a moment to recover.  
“Rhianna, c'est mon père/He’s my Dad,” Keandre quickly explained.  
“Je sais qui il est/I know who he is,” she assured, not taking her eyes from him.  
“Keandre vient avec moi/Keandre is coming with me,” he insisted, “il doit venir à la maison et être avec sa famille/he needs to come home and be with family.”  
“Il a une famille ici/He has a family here,” Rhianna didn’t move as his father stepped toward him again.  
“Je veux rester ici/I want to stay here,” Keandre reiterated, before he was grabbed by the shirt.  
“Vous venez avec moi/You’re coming with me,” his father was seething now, “ou je dis à la police de votre composé/or I tell the police about your little compound.”  
“Je ne ferais pas ça/I wouldn’t do that,” Rhianna warned, not noticing the change in Keandre’s eyes.  
If the authorities found them, the kids’ families would too. He couldn’t send them back to where they’d come from. A few had barely survived leaving in the first place.  
“Vous ne pouvez pas/You can’t,” he shook his head, unable to say more.  
“je peux et je veux/I can and I will,” his father hadn’t let go of his shirt, “viens avec moi et je n'aurai pas à/come with me and I won’t have to.”  
“Non!” Rhianna’s voice rose when she could see Keandre considering it.  
Better that he go, than endanger the rest of the household. But the moment he took a step forward Rhianna grabbed his father.  
“Faites attention!/Be careful!” he warned, a moment too late.  
His father had turned and hit Rhianna across the face. She stumbled backward in a daze.  
Keandre’s face went red and he shoved his father back.  
“Tu ne la touche pas/You don’t touch her,” he ordered.  
“Ou bien, quoi?/Or else what?” his father taunted, coming back to grab him again.  
This time Keandre threw him off. When he tried to grab him again Keandre defended himself for the first time. He’d spent a lot of time sparring with Sylvain and some of the older members, and as a result his father wasn’t able to take hold of him again.  
“Partez s'il vous plaît!/Leave, please!” he begged, “laissez-moi rester ici!/just let me stay here!”  
“Non,” he growled, setting his sights on Rhianna instead.  
She was still recovering when he went for her. Seeing what he was about to do, Keandre lunged for his father. He managed to shove him to the side before he could reach her, and he lost his balance and fell to the ground.  
“Keandre!” Rhianna gasped in shock, and he took a moment to recover and see what had actually happened.  
His father was laying limp on the ground, a tree branch protruding through the side of his neck.

“Don’t stay up too late!” Judy called down the stairs, not bothering to close the door before walking away.  
He barely heard her, a lot more focused on what he was doing. He quickly copied down some numbers from the screen onto a nearby notepad before checking his call was still connected.  
“Did you get them?” a voice came through.  
“Sure did,” he grinned, “I got all five passwords.”  
“Let me try one first.”  
“That’s not how this works,” he corrected, “it was five for 5k. If you want one you need to wire me 1k. That’s fair.”  
“How do I know this is legit?”  
“Because I came highly recommended,” he rolled his eyes, “are we doing business or not?”  
“Fine. Wiring it now.”  
Alex waited patiently, hearing the work on the other end of the line. After a few minutes he closed the screen he had before going into his bank account.  
“It’s done.”  
“I don’t see it,” his brow rose.  
A moment later, a couple of extra zeros appeared in his account.  
“Never mind,” he smirked when he realized it was the full amount, “there it is.”  
“We got a deal?”  
“Hope you’re ready to write this down. Alfa, Tango, Charlie, five, seven, Zulu, five, Hotel.”  
“Got it.”  
“Alfa, Tango, Charlie, five, eight, Hotel, six, Bravo.”  
He jumped at a loud crash from upstairs and looked up toward the doorway.  
“Third one?”  
Alex quickly checked the paperwork.  
“Alfa, Tango, Charlie, five, nine, Charlie, seven, Charlie.”  
He could hear voices from upstairs, but he couldn’t hear his Mom. He frowned as he tried to concentrate a little harder.  
“Hurry up man, four and five!”  
“Ah…” Alex struggled to find where he’d been, “Alfa, Tango, Delta, nine, nine, Bravo, eight, Charlie.”  
Suddenly there were footsteps on the stairs. When he looked up again the first thing he saw was blue.  
“Shit!” he cussed.  
“What is it?”  
“Alfa, Tango, Delta, zero, five, Delta, five, Bravo!” Alex quickly disconnected the call and ripped the paper he’d had the passwords written on.  
“Alexander Bell!” one of the cops was already on him, pulling him from the chair before he could destroy anything else, “you’re under arrest.”  
“Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law,” the second officer pulled out hand cuffs.  
“Alex?!” his mother was yelling from the top of the stairs, where he was soon pulled.  
“What did you do?!” she demanded once she laid eyes on him.  
“Nothing!” he insisted.  
“It’s all there in the warrant,” the officers paused, one of them indicating the paperwork in Judy’s hands, “your son is wanted in connection with hacking events at four major banks and at American Airlines.”  
“I didn’t do it!” Alex insisted.  
His mother slapped him across the face.  
“Of course you did it!” she scorned, “and you’d better hope we can afford the same lawyer again!”


	9. Chapter 9

“You look like shit,” Davey was looking Mark up and down with disdain.  
Mark just gave him a condescending look.  
“How long do we have to wait here? I got an appointment to get to,” he grumbled.  
“Not long.”  
Davey was right. Their mark was along inside ten minutes, and the transaction was swift. The older gruff businessman was soon on his way with his new stash and Davey was ready to leave.  
“When do I get my cut?” Mark had noticed no money had switched hands.  
“Old man does it all on computers,” Davey wiggled his fingers, “Court will get the cash and have it for you when you get home.”  
“Thanks,” Mark shook hands with him before parting ways.  
He waited as Davey left the alley, leaving some time between their exits. With one last check of his watch he quickly headed out and made his way toward the healthcare office.

The interview was short and to the point, and if he hadn’t had to sign a heap of paperwork Mark would have complained about not being able to do it over the phone instead. He managed to organize for Gerard to be transferred to a facility focused on aged care rather than stroke victims, but along with it being cheaper for similar care it was also closer to home. After organizing a down payment for the next day he left the depressing building as fast as he could.  
He made his way to a coffee shop across the road which sat near the lobby of one of the city’s hotels. There was a short line to order which passed quickly, but a long line was forming behind him full of people on their lunch breaks. Just when he was about to step forward and order he felt a tap on his arm and looked down.  
“Hey grab me a Mountain Dew while you’re there,” someone was handing him a $5 note.  
When he glanced up to see who it was he quickly stood up straight.  
“What?” Zac Hanson was frowning.  
“Nothing,” Mark had to clear his throat.  
“I’ll wait.”  
Mark watched as he stepped aside before realizing the barista was calling him. He stepped forward to order, keeping an eye on where Zac was more focused on his handheld game off to the side. He ordered his coffee and took the bottle from the girl at the counter before making sure he was keeping half his face turned away as he walked back to Zac. He didn’t want him to see his facial scar.  
“Thanks,” Zac barely looked up before taking the bottle and heading into the hotel.  
Mark watched him leave, both relieved that he was gone and suddenly thinking about how easy that had been.  
He wondered for a moment if Taylor were actually around at all.  
He was so lost in thought he didn’t hear the barista calling him at first, and once he’d gotten his coffee he took it outside before pulling out his cell phone. He speed dialled Carey’s number hoping he’d actually pick up. They hadn’t talked since the fight at the hospital.  
“Mark? Are you okay?” he answered.  
“Taylor Hanson cut his hair,” was the first thing he said, “and they're in LA.”

Keandre heard the footsteps behind him, but he didn’t move. He could tell they belonged to Sylvain.  
“Qu'est-il arrivé?/What happened?” his voice was full of worry once he came across the scene.  
“Un accident/An accident,” Rhianna assured, having been the one to fetch him, “il ne le quittera pas/he won’t leave him.”  
“J'ai tué mon père/I killed my father,” Keandre’s tone was already defeated and his eyes held a dead stare.  
He was laying against the body, staring into his father’s expressionless face. Spots of blood covered both of them, and Keandre’s hands were covered in it from when he’d tried in vain to revive him.  
“C'était un accident/It was an accident,” Rhianna assured Sylvain, “le soulève/lift him.”  
Keandre knew it was coming but he couldn’t fight it anymore. Sylvain took hold of him under the arms and lifted him into a sit, forcing him to break eye contact with the body. His eyes immediately began to tear up again and when he wiped his face he left a smear of red.  
“Qu'est-il arrivé?/What happened?” Sylvain asked again, this time softer.  
“Il allait lui faire mal/He was going to hurt her,” Keandre kept his eyes down, “Je ne voulais pas/I didn’t mean to.”  
“Il essayait de prendre Keandre/He was trying to take Keandre,” Rhianna explained, “il nous a menacés/he threatened us.”  
“Je ne voulais pas/I didn’t mean to,” Keandre shook his head, looking back at the body.  
Sylvain put a gentle hand to his face, pulling his gaze back away from it.  
“C'était un accident/It was an accident,” he repeated Rhianna’s words, “ça ira/it’ll be okay.”  
“Comment?/How?” Keandre scoffed, “Sylvain, j'ai tué quelqu'un!/Sylvain I killed someone!”  
“Vous avez menacé/You took out a threat,” he corrected, “vous nous avez peut-être sauvé/you may have saved us.”  
Keandre looked up at Rhianna. Her face was stoic, but he could tell she agreed.  
“Ça n'a pas d'importance/It doesn’t matter,” he shook his head, “c'est fini/it’s over.”  
“Rien n'est fini pour vous. C'est un nouveau départ/Nothing is over for you. This is a new beginning,” Rhianna insisted, “vous pouvez recommencer sans votre passé à vous hanter/you can start over without your past to haunt you.”  
Keandre frowned, not understanding. He knew he’d be facing a lot of prison time for this if nothing else.  
“Sylvain vous aidera/Sylvain will help you,” she put a hand on his shoulder, “vous devez enterrer le corps/you must bury the body.”  
“Quelle?/What?” Keandre looked up in surprise.  
“Nous sommes ici depuis longtemps/We’ve been here a long time,” Rhianna’s expression hadn’t changed, “nous allons gérer cela. Tout comme tout le reste/we will handle this. Just like everything else.”  
“Je vais aider/I’ll help,” Sylvain assured.  
“Emmenez-le au cimetière/Take him to the cemetery,” Rhianna told Sylvain, “un enterrement approprié dans une tombe non marquée. Pour l'homme qu'il aurait pu être contre l'homme qu'il était/a proper burial in an unmarked grave. For the man he might have been versus the man he turned out to be.”  
Sylvain nodded, before holding his hand out to Keandre.  
“Nous allons le faire ensemble/We’ll do it together,” he assured.  
Keandre looked back at the body again, in disbelief that this was how it was going to end. But at the same time he understood right away why they were doing it.  
It was to protect the compound. He was only a part of a much bigger picture.  
It took some time for him to pull himself together enough, but he eventually nodded his agreement.  
“D'accord/Okay.”  
He took Sylvain’s hand, and the larger man pulled him to his feet. Rhianna gave them both an encouraging smile before heading back to the house.  
Sylvain remained silent the entire time out of respect, and Keandre was grateful. It was only when they were nearly done that he realized he’d missed his first day of work.

“Come on in,” Jesse held the door open.  
“Is he here yet?” Blake asked as he walked in.  
“No, but I sent Chelsea to her Ma’s,” Jesse closed the door behind him and followed him toward the kitchen, “have you heard from them again?”  
“No,” Blake scratched at his head, “but man, this sounds like some _deep shit_.”  
“How so?” Jesse frowned, leaning against the counter.  
“We - _we_ \- got calls from a Command Sergeant? Have you ever heard of that?”  
“We’ve only been in the army about four years,” Jesse shrugged, “maybe it happens all the time and we don’t know about it? He did say to keep it to ourselves.”  
“Or maybe we really suck at our jobs and they want to take us out?” Blake’s brow rose.  
“Sure,” Jesse’s eyes narrowed with sarcasm, “I’m sure that’s what it is.”  
There was a knock on the door and Blake looked over his shoulder. Jesse would have smirked if he weren’t so anxious about the visit himself. Reminding himself that it would only be a courier he quickly went to answer the door.  
When he saw who was actually on the other side of it, he froze.  
“Private Jesse Musgrove, I presume?”  
“Sergeant Major,” Jesse temporarily forgot his name, “we weren’t expecting-“  
“Is Private Rickett with you?” the much older man bent slightly to look past him.  
“He is.”  
“May I?”  
Jesse stood aside, letting him in. The Sergeant Major walked past and Jesse rushed to close the door before directing him through to the dining area. Blake was already standing on the other side of the table in wait. When he saw who’d actually come he also froze on the spot.  
“Private Rickett,” the man gave him a nod, blissfully ignoring their reactions as he took a seat at the head of the table.  
“Can I offer you a drink of anything?” Jesse was wringing his hands nervously as Blake took up the opposite seat.  
“Scotch will be fine.”  
“We don’t really have alcohol in the house,” Jesse hated to admit that he even had any, “I’m only 19.”  
“Good man. Water will be fine.”  
Jesse breathed easier once he realized he’d passed the test and went to fetch some water. There was silence in the room until he returned with a glass for each of them and took a seat to the side.  
“Command Sergeant Durrell told me some paperwork was being delivered today,” Jesse began cautiously, needing to get it underway, “we weren’t expecting-“  
“Command Sergeant Durrell doesn’t really know what’s going on,” the Sergeant Major informed them.  
“So what’s going on?” Blake leant forward, folding his arms on the table.  
“I’d like to offer the two of you an opportunity not afforded to most,” the man lay a folder on the table with a noticeable lack of paper inside, “and you have the option to leave at any time, however you must understand that anything you learn from here on is strictly confidential and classified. You cannot repeat this to anyone.”  
“Understood,” Jesse nodded, feeling his adrenaline spike already.  
“Yeah. Me too,” Blake agreed.  
The folder opened, and the Sergeant Major slid each of them two pieces of paper. They’d been the only papers in there.  
“On Tuesday morning we’ll need you to report to this location,” he tapped the map on Jesse’s paper, as he was closer, “at 0900 and no later. There we will begin your training.”  
“Training for what?” Blake asked.  
“A side mission,” the Sergeant Major replied, “a little test to see how well you boys work on this kind of team. If all goes well you’ll progress to the next stage. But you must understand that this progression will happen quickly once it has started, and if you have any reservations they must be handled swiftly and in the early stages.”  
“Understood,” Jesse repeated.  
“You’ll need to sign the form in front of you to formally express your interest,” he pulled a gold pen from his pocket and slid it across the table to Jesse, “unless you’re having second thoughts already.”  
“No,” Jesse assured, “I just… how long will this take?”  
Blake’s eyes were darting between them.  
“It will be indefinite,” the Sergeant Major looked a little confused at why he’d asked.  
“I mean, this training. Will it be like being deployed? Will we get a timeframe?” Jesse tried to explain.  
“Your missions will be treated as deployments, yes. But your training will be entirely onsite and you will not be expected to live on base.”  
Jesse shot Blake a glance who offered him a shrug.  
“This sounds a little too good to be true,” Jesse admitted, trying to gauge the older man’s expression and failing.  
“It will be hard work, but that’s why we choose our applicants with care,” Sergeant Major assured before setting his eyes on Blake, “once you’ve signed the papers Private Rickett, you are dismissed.”


	10. Chapter 10

Blake quickly finished the paperwork and took his leave. The Sergeant Major wasn’t moving from his seat. Jesse saw his friend out before cautiously returning to the dining table. He had no idea why the man was still here if the paperwork had been done.  
“Take a seat, Private Musgrove,” he indicated the chair where Blake had previously been.  
Jesse gingerly took it as the Sergeant Major collected the two forms and returned them to his folder.  
“Is there something wrong?” Jesse was afraid to ask.  
“Not at all. I just have something further to discuss with you.”  
Jesse looked up when he heard the front door opening again and quickly shot to his feet. Chelsea wasn’t due home until the afternoon and he wasn’t expecting anyone else.  
“I told you to take a seat, Private,” the Sergeant Major stared him down.  
Well and truly intimidated, Jesse sat back down. He had to be expecting someone that Jesse wasn’t.  
“Unlike your friend Private Rickett, I have a task for you starting right now,” the Sergeant Major began as they heard footsteps getting closer, “a classified government agency operating across the South has contacted us for assistance in their field operations. They’ve asked specifically for your help, and part of your training starting in a few days will help prepare you for this extra mission.”  
“Will I get paid extra?” Jesse’s eyes were on the door.  
“Of course. Starting today, now the papers are finalized.”  
Three figures appeared in the doorway and Jesse jolted in his seat. Two were high class military, the other… barely a teenager. Yet his expression told Jesse he didn’t at all feel out of place.  
“Private Musgrove,” the Sergeant Major indicated the intruders, “I’d like you to meet Damien. I trust he looks very familiar to you.”

“What kind of hours are we talking?” Mark was scratching at his arm.  
“You come in whenever you want. Just clock in first,” he indicated the nearby wall with the spanner he held, “there’s always work, it just better be above standard, know what I’m saying?”  
“Yeah. Can I start tomorrow?”  
“You gotta prove to me what you got first. See that bike over there?”  
Mark turned to look over his shoulder. A renovated Harley had been pushed to the side, missing many parts including an engine.  
“I need the VIN gone and the engine replaced by midday tomorrow,” he was looking Mark up and down, “you get that done to my standards and you can work the shop whenever you want. Work on commission at first.”  
“Sounds good,” Mark nodded, “I can do it now and I’ll be back first thing.”  
The man nodded and Mark got to work. Part of the stipulation of getting his father into a good care facility was the need to get a stable income. Considering his current employment was anything but stable, he’d looked around at a couple of options. This one seemed good already.  
After he had the bike’s work done, he made his way home. It was only mid afternoon.

Mark wasn’t home long before the phone rang. Not expecting anyone bar the hospital to call, he jogged to the kitchen to grab the phone before it stopped ringing.  
“This is Mark,” he answered apprehensively.  
“It’s me. Your cell’s not working,” Carey’s voice came through.  
“It died a half hour ago, why?” Mark frowned.  
“Did you just get home?”  
“Why?” Mark repeated, “feeling guilty all of a sudden?”  
“I stand by what I said, I’m not changing my mind,” Carey insisted.  
“Whatever. It doesn’t matter now anyway.”  
“Why?”  
“I got a job. Starting tomorrow,” Mark rubbed his nose again, “so do whatever you want and I’ll deal with this myself.”  
There was a pause on the line, and Mark could hear Carey talking to Emma in the background.  
“Are we done?” he demanded, wanting to get some sleep.  
“Wait!” Carey sounded a little too urgent, “tell me where he’s going.”  
“Why? So you can visit?” Mark’s eyes narrowed, “fuck you.”  
“I have a right to know.”  
“Maybe I’ll tell you once he’s safe and settled in.”  
Mark flinched, looking over his shoulder. He thought he’d heard something from the front room.  
“What’s the difference between telling me now? What do you think I’m going to do?!”  
“Shut up,” Mark said quietly into the phone, concentrating on the house instead.  
“Why? Mark this is stupid! Why all the secrets?!”  
The moment Mark saw a shadow in the doorway, he ditched the phone and ran. An officer in uniform and one without immediately took up the chase.  
“He’s going out back!” one of them radioed in as Mark threw the back door open and aimed for the back fence.  
He jumped it and landed in the alley, about to run to the right when he saw a squad car blocking the street.  
“Shit!” he cussed to himself, turning back to run left instead.  
He could hear the two chasing him on their radios to the cars, and the car at the other street squealed its tires as it took off in pursuit.  
By the time he made it to the cross street a paddy wagon was coming at him from the right, and he could hear the car coming from the left. Starting to panic, he took off down the opposite alley. The car kept following the street while the wagon followed him into the alley.  
He didn’t know anywhere in the area he could crash – he’d run in the opposite direction of the nearest havens. But if he made it to the nearby skate park he knew he could get into the drain system and lose them that way. With his heart pounding, he desperately aimed for it.  
They were on his tail as he got to the park, and by the time he could aim for the drain he heard the first warning shot.  
“MILLER! FREEZE!” came the warning over the loudspeaker.  
Mark grit his teeth as he looked over his shoulder. There were no less than three guns armed in his direction. He was tempted to go for it anyway but his thoughts quickly turned to his father. If he stayed on the run, he couldn’t provide for him. They’d find him eventually.  
So gritting his teeth, he raised his hands. They were soon cuffed and he was thrown in the back of the wagon.

“Prenez quelques jours de congé/Take a few days off,” Rhianna rubbed Keandre’s back, “vous pouvez reprendre le travail la semaine prochaine/you can pick up work next week.”  
“Merci,” Keandre gave her a nod before she left the room.  
“Est-ce que vous allez bien?/Will you be okay?” Sylvain asked him.  
“Non,” he admitted, “mais je m'inquiète d'autre chose maintenant/but I’m worried about something else now.”  
“Qu'Est-ce que c'est?/What is it?”  
Keandre looked over his shoulder to check there were no kids around. Rhianna had tried to keep them away as he hadn’t showered the blood off yet.  
“Cette maison a besoin de protection/This house needs protection,” Keandre kept his voice down, “nous devons le protéger/we need to protect it.”  
“Nous allons/We will,” Sylvain looked confused.  
“Nous avons besoin d'aide/We need help,” Keandre shook his head, “nous avons besoin d'armes/we need weapons.”  
“Êtes-vous sûr de cela?/Are you sure about that?”  
“Cela se reproduira, cela arrivera à ces enfants/This will happen again, it will happen to those kids,” Keandre indicated, “nous devons être préparés/and we need to be prepared.”  
Sylvain paused, but slowly nodded his agreement.  
“Cela commence aujourd'hui/It starts today,” Keandre insisted, “Nous apprenons, et nous nous battons. Pas plus de peur/we learn, and we fight. No more fear.”

Mark glared at the officer as he returned to his seat at the desk.  
“If you’re going to charge me with something, can we get it over with?” he shrugged, “I got things to do. I got a job now.”  
“A job?” the officer smirked, looking through his papers, “that’s a good one.”  
“It’s true,” Mark scorned, “I got one so I can afford care for my Dad. He had a stroke.”  
“We know,” the officer nodded, “I wouldn’t worry about him for a while.”  
Mark frowned at that before looking around. No one else was paying them attention.  
“What is this?” he was getting worried, “what’s going on here?”  
“Just sit there and shut up for a while.”  
“Why?! What are you even arresting me for?!”  
“You’re not under arrest.”  
“Really? Because it sure as hell feels like it!”  
“Ah, you’re here,” the officer looked up as two men in dress shirts approached, “we’re just waiting for his brother.”  
“My brother?” Mark looked between them, “what’s he got to do with this?!”  
“Here’s your paperwork, we just need one of you to sign him off,” the officer handed papers over, ignoring him.  
“What’s going on?!” Mark’s voice rose, feeling his heart race again.  
“Mark!”  
He turned sharply when he heard Carey’s voice behind him. His brother was jogging toward him after assuring the desk staff that he was meant to be there. Mark got to his feet.  
“Sit down!” the officer ordered, pushing him back down.  
“What the fuck is going on?!” Mark demanded, looking Carey in the eye.  
“Look, I’m sorry,” Carey insisted, “but this had to happen. It’s better sooner than later.”  
“What? What has to happen?!”  
“We’re ready to take him,” one of the newcomers confirmed.  
“Take me where?!”  
“Rehab,” Carey informed him, “Mark, you’re going to rehab. And not a day too soon.”  
“Are you kidding me?!” Mark felt his blood boiling, “how fucking _dare_ you?”  
“It had to happen,” Carey stared him dead in the eye, “if you want to take responsibility for Dad, you need to start by taking responsibility for yourself. You can’t do that high. What good are you going to be to him dead in a gutter? Or shot?”  
“Don’t pretend this is about Dad,” Mark seethed, “this is about you being self-righteous. About your need to validate being the better twin. It always has been!”  
“You know what? If you need to tell yourself that? Fine,” Carey gave in, “but I’m saving your life.”  
Mark spat at him as he was dragged up from the chair. The officer asked for help in taking him out to the waiting van.  
“I’ll come see you!” Carey promised as he was taken away.  
“Don’t fucking bother!”  
It wasn’t until he was gone that Emma made an appearance. Carey had warned her that it’d probably be ugly, and hadn’t wanted her to see it.  
“Are you okay?” she put a hand on his shoulder as he stared at the door Mark had gone through.  
Carey just shook his head, his eyes tearing up slightly.  
“He’ll be okay,” she assured, “you had to do it.”  
“I know,” he took a deep breath, “I just didn’t feel right is all.”  
He turned into her and she gave him a tight hug. She could feel the defeat radiating from him.  
“It will when he walks out clean,” she assured, “it’ll feel right then.”  
“I hope so.”

“Why do I have to wear a suit?” he frowned as he fixed an uncomfortable tie, “I feel like I’m back in school.”  
“Because it’s a job interview and you will not embarrass me,” his father insisted, coming over to make sure he’d done it right, “are you ready?”  
“As I’ll ever be.”  
“Good.”  
He opened the door to the office and indicated for him to go in first. He led the way while still fixing the cuffs on his sleeves. There was an older man sitting at a fancy desk, with black-suited bodyguards standing either side.  
“Leonard Reis,” the older man greeted with a smile, standing from his desk and making his way around, “so good to see you.”  
He stopped in front of them, looking them both over.  
“And who might this be?” he smile was suddenly predatory.  
“This is my son, Colin,” his father introduced him, putting a hand on his shoulder, “I believe you two could be very good for each other in the coming years.”  
The older man leant forward slightly to shake his hand.  
“I’m sure,” his expression didn’t change as Colin reciprocated, “don’t look so worried Colin, we’re all family here. I’ve heard so much about you.”


End file.
